


Inevitable

by HunterPeverell



Series: Unchangeable 'Verse [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Castiel, BAMF Dean Winchester, BAMF Sam Winchester, DEAL WITH IT, Dimension Travel, Episode: s11e02 Form and Void, Episode: s11e03 The Bad Seed, Everything Hurts, Gen, Hurt, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Minor Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, POV Sam Winchester, Sam-Centric, Season/Series 06, Season/Series 11 Spoilers, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Time Travel, Winchester Luck, Winchesters Have Terrible Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-04-30 16:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5170706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterPeverell/pseuds/HunterPeverell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been over a year.</p><p>Over a year since Older Sam came and saved their universe from the horrors of his. Over a year since Dean realized his brother had been possessed by a haunted version of himself. Over a year since the Older Winchesters left with an human Castiel and a demonic Dean. Now they need their help once more.</p><p>It was, after all, inevitable that they should meet again.</p><p>Sequel to <i>Unchageable</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We’ve Come a Long Way From Where We Began

**Author's Note:**

> This has taken far too long. I am so sorry I made you all wait over a year for this sequel. However, I lost my muse. I've been feeling so guilty this last year plus, and now I can finally fulfill my promise to you guys. By the way, **I’ve re-edited Unchangeable** (because, hey, my writing has somewhat improved! And my grammar! Hooray!) so it you want to re-read that first, go ahead. It should be better now. See the end for more on that.
> 
> Hey, you people who just clicked this! Welcome! **PLEASE READ UNCHANGEABLE FIRST!** This story takes place after it, and you may be confused if you just picked this story up without reading my first one.
> 
> Also, please note: I am not shipping. I like ships, but this 'verse is NOT focusing on ships. My original character is female, yes. Mostly because all the good females in SPN are dead. Will she have sex and/or become romantically involved with a Team Free Will member? Nope. She's just one of those characters that helps them out. End of story. No shipping beyond canon ships, and those will not play a role in this story at all.
> 
> This story is from the Younger Sam's POV. I'll let you know if that changes. So far it hasn't.
> 
> Chapter 1 title from the song ‘See You Again’. It's not mine. Don't own.
> 
> Oh, also, disclaimer: I do not own baby dancing Groot (THOUGH I WANT TO) and I do not, unfortunately, own Supernatural.

  
_“A ‘hello again’ after the final goodbye is sometimes harder than just keeping the goodbye as it was.”_ ― Jessiqua Wittman

*

*

_Then_

*

*

It was in the darkness that a flash of light appeared, and four thumps hit the ground.

Sam could tell immediately, however, that the night he had landed in was not a normal night—something had happened. Something big. He could feel it.

“Dean?” he said. His eyes were useless—it had been so bright for so long, and now in the darkness he floundered. He heaved himself to his arms and knees and shuffled forward, trying to find his brother and their companions. There was a high-pitched buzzing in his ears, like a soft version of Castiel’s real voice, and his head felt fuzzy.

“Uuuggh,” someone groaned to his left. The voice was deep enough to be Dean’s, and so Sam changed his course slightly to find him.

“There is a great evil surrounding us,” Castiel said right next to Sam’s ear. Sam yelped, flinched, and toppled over onto the ground—which turned out to be quite soft.

“Fuck!” the soft thing snarled and Sam rolled off with mumbled apologies.

“Don’t do that Cas,” Sam said once he was off his brother. His eyes had adjusted slightly, and he could just make out Cas' stiff outline.

“I am sorry,” Cas said and stood swiftly, apparently not at all effected by the magic that had brought them here.

“Everyone okay?” Sam called out. He got three responses, varying in their crudeness from each person.

“Where are we?” Hally asked.

“I have no clue,” Sam looked around. The night was cool and slightly damp, wet dirt clinging to his clothes where he had crawled. The moon hung pale, shivering in the sky next to the faded, scattered stars. All was quiet.

_Too_ quiet.

There were no cricket noises, no rustling animals in the trees or grass. There was no flap of wings from nocturnal birds, calling out in alarm at their unexpected and dazzling arrival.

There was not even the distant sound of driving or honking from a nearby town or city.

The only noise in this place was the wind.

“Okay, creepy,” Sam said.

“What the hell?” Dean stood up, rubbing his side. “I’m not much into camping, but shouldn’t there be more . . . sound?”

“Something terrible has been released,” Castiel said, looking off into the night. “Something . . . dark.”

“How reassuring,” Dean said. “So nice to know that their universe hasn’t improved at all.”

They took a moment to let that idea sink in. Sam and Dean looked at each other, and Sam wish he could say he was surprised at that idea. He wasn't.

“So," he said grimly. "Now we have to find ourselves,”

*

*

_Now_

*

*

“There is a sickness in this place,” Castiel said as he looked around the town they had eventually found. The light had returned and the Winchesters and Co. had found . . . Death.

“Yeah, no kidding.” Dean peered into one of the cars at the couple lying in there, obviously dead. Blood splattered in pools across their skin and their eyes were wide and unseeing.

“What the hell happened to these people?” Sam asked, carefully walking around the corpse of a young man, dressed in jeans and plaid.

“I have no idea,” Castiel said. “I have never seen this happen before.”

“It obviously has something to do with these black marks,” Hally said, pointing to the black veins that covered one of the dead’s neck and face.

“Yeah, but . . . I’ve never read about _anything_ like this,” Sam said.

“Are you sure you dropped us off in the right place?” Dean demanded, glaring at Hally.

Hally pricked defensively. “I’m sure!”

“Dean, she did.” Castiel said. “I feel their presence, though I cannot find them.”

“Well, that’s just great, isn’t it?” Dean snapped. He kicked a metal shopping cart out of his way. “Just perfect!”

“Dean—” Sam began, but before he could continue, Dean was bowled over.

“Sonova bitch!” Dean yelled as the creature thrashing on top of him tried to tear out his throat. Sam flung himself over to his brother and pulled the flailing monster off Dean. It clawed at Dean, blood crusted hands outstretched, before giving up and reaching back, trying to scratch Sam’s face. Dean rolled to his feet and grabbed its arms, using his strength to still the creature’s movements.

“Think this is what caused all of this?” Sam asked Dean.

Dean’s face had paled. “Sammy,” he said. “It’s a person.”

“ _What?_ ” Sam asked. He pinned it to his chest with one arm and tilted its head with the other. Under the chaotic hair and the snapping teeth, it was, in fact, a person. The same black marks had nearly reached her temple, and her eyes were wild. She tried to bite his nose.

“Hey!” Dean shouted, trying to get her attention. Her movements slowed and she stopped, panting, looking at Dean with that feral rage in her eyes.

“My name’s Dean,” Dean said, placing his hand on his chest. “You?”

She began to laugh. “What does it matter?” she voice was touched with hysteria. “I’m going to die soon, and you will, too, if you don’t leave now!”

“What happened here?” Dean asked, his voice low and intense.

“It came,” she whispered through cracked lips. “It came and we all died.”

Sam had been watching the dark veins creep upwards—it reached her temple, and all at once she shuddered and went limp.

“Did she just—die?” Hally asked, shock and fear in her voice.

“Yep,” Dean said. His voice held trace amounts of pity and resignation as Sam pushed her off of his chest and stood, moving to stand next to his brother. “I think we need to find Older Sam.”

“Do you think Demon Dean could be behind this?” Sam asked in an undertone, not wanting Hally to overhear them.

Dean shrugged, his expression going blank like it always did when talking about his older alternate self. “I dunno. ’S not like we exchange letters.”

“This is not the work of the Knight of Hell,” Castiel said firmly. He was still looking around, his ancient eyes taking in everything. “This is different. This is darker.”

“Darker than Hell,” Sam said. “Great.”

“Did Older Sam leave anything about this in your memories?” Dean asked.

“Nothing,” Sam shook his head. “He’s never encountered anything like this.”

“Neither have I,” Hally said and shuddered, closing her eyes. Just under the surface of her skin, a golden light began to glow. “He’s close.”

“Something more would be better,” Dean hedged. “Like ‘he’s just around the corner to the left’ or, hell, an address or something.”

Hally opened her eyes, the glow fading. “It doesn’t work like that!”

“So we just wander around until we find him?”

“I’m not a GPS,” Hally said. “So, yeah, we’re gonna wander around.”

Sam tilted his head and frowned. “Do you hear that?”

Everyone froze and listened, ears alert and straining.

_“H-a-t-e. It was with this left hand that old brother Cain struck the blow that laid his brother low. L-o-v-e—”_

“What is that?” Castiel looked confused.

“No clue,” Sam said.

Without prompting, they all walked in the direction of the sound.

_“You see these fingers? They’re arched. These fingers has veins that run straight to the soul of man. The right hand, friends—the hand of love. Now watch, and I’ll show you the story of life.”_ The man sounded like a radio announcer, all self-important and condescending. Sam wondered who was speaking and why someone was playing it—what did Cain and hands have to do with anything?

The turned down a street with a hardware store and an ice cream parlor. The sound, louder now, seemed to be coming from the wide alley between the hardware store and the K-Mart.

_“These fingers, dear hearts, is always a-warrin’ and a-tuggin’, one against the other. Now watch ‘em. Old brother left hand—left hand hates a-fightin’. And it looks like love’s a goner.”_

“Where is it coming from?” Hally muttered as they walked slowly down the alley, scanning the ground for the source of the noise.

_“But wait a minute. Wait a minute. Hot dog! Love’s a-winnin’. Yes, siree. It’s love that won.”_ There was the sound of electricity ahead, and the grunting of a man. Sam and Dean looked at each other and began running down the alley. _“And old left hand hate is down for the count.”_

Around the dumpster was a man, infected by the black veins, unconscious. Standing over him was—

“Sam,” Dean said.

Older Sam looked up. He was holding a long piece of wood in his hand, and had apparently just knocked the man out with a homemade Taser. He looked confused and asked, his voice tight with disbelief, “Dean?”

*

Older Sam was dressed in their usual wear—an army jacket over a plaid shirt, jeans, and it seemed that his hair had grown even longer. He had a duffle bag slung over one shoulder—its tags were still attached.

“What the hell?” Dean demanded.

Older Sam sighed and paused the video on his phone, which had been sitting on a chair in a bucket for some reason. He tucked it away and hefted the unconscious man’s arm over his shoulder. The man’s head lolled and his feet dragged against the ground.

“Not here,” Older Sam said, glancing around. “I just made some noise, and I don’t know if more will be coming. I’ve been shacking up in the hospital. C’mon.”

He made as if to leave when Sam spotted something under his collar.

“Wait,” Sam said, staring at his older self. “What was that?”

Older Sam stopped and looked over at Sam, eyebrow raised. Sam stepped closer and hesitantly moved Older Sam’s collar down. Dean cursed and Hally gasped as they saw the black lines creeping up Older Sam’s neck.

“Don’t let their blood touch you,” Older Sam said. “That’s how it spreads.”

“What the hell is it?” Dean demanded as Older Sam began to move.

“No clue,” Older Sam said. “It hit this town yesterday.”

“You and your brother had something to do with it.” Castiel said. Older Sam’s shoulders slumped.

“Me more than Dean, I think,” he said. “I’ll explain, but we really gotta get back. I need to find a cure and soon—I’m not going to last much longer and I’d like to be able to save whoever’s left.”

“Saving people,” Sam said.

Older Sam shot him a quick, humorless grin. “Something like that.”

“Where’s . . . Dean?” Dean asked.

Sam waved his free hand in the air. “Currently getting a deputy named Jenna and a newborn named Amara out of town.”

“And is he . . .” Dean seemed hesitant to finish his question.

“A demon? No.” Older Sam barked out a laugh. “No, thank God. We found a cure, eventually. Turns out the demon cure that we had _would_ have worked, but Crowley—the King of Hell here—had managed to find way to block that from happening.”

“Okay, so . . .” Sam stepped around the corpse of an old lady with a grimace.

“We didn’t figure it out. Dean didn’t tell us—he had reservations about becoming human again. Eventually we mixed the purified human blood with some angelic Grace, and the Dean’s demon self didn’t stand a chance.”

“You injected your brother with human blood and Grace?” Castiel demanded. Older Sam nodded.

“It worked,” he said. “Dean became human again. He told us about the spell Crowley had given him ‘just in case’ after he turned human, and we continued hunting.”

“Damn,” Dean said. “So it’s all good? No more demons, no more Mark?”

“The Mark . . .” Sam’s expression tightened. “That’s a bit harder to explain. But it’s gone. In here,” he added, going down another alley to where a red door sat nestled in a brick wall. Dean jimmied it open for Older Sam, who thanked him and went inside.

“Cheerful,” Dean said, looking around at the doctors, nurses, and patients lying dead on the floor. “This is where you’ve been staying? I bet there’re motels in this place.”

“I’m not likely to find a cure in a motel, am I?” Older Sam asked dryly.

“Probably not,” Sam said. “So, what are you thinking?”

Older Sam entered a room that was free of bodies and set the man down against the examination table. From the duffle bag he withdrew chains, and set about securing the man.

“Can you cure us?” Older Sam asked Castiel as he shackled the man’s hands.

“If I could, I would have done it at once,” Castiel told him. “This power is far greater than me. What is it?”

“It’s a virus,” Older Sam said, “from the Darkness.”

Sam, Dean, and Hally looked at each other in confusion. Castiel, however, straightened even more, somehow.

“That is an Evil more ancient than any of the angels,” he growled. “How was it released?”

Older Sam sighed and began collecting medical equipment and placing it on a sterile silver tray. “The Mark of Cain was its key. When we removed it from Dean’s arm, it was released.”

“How could you be so _stupid?_ ” Castiel demanded. “Are you looking to destroy this world?”

“No,” Older Sam said as he opened the cupboards, pulling out a few bottles and adding them to his collection. “We aren’t. But the Darkness has disappeared for the moment. It was only released yesterday afternoon.”

“Your time hasn’t improved _at all_.” Dean said emphatically.

Older Sam shook his head. “It really hasn’t.”

“So what is the Darkness?” Hally asked. “And is that _really_ what it’s called?”

“No,” Castiel said. “It’s just the closest translation humans can manage. The Darkness is the first Evil, and only slightly less powerful than God himself. My Father could not contain its power and so locked it away. He would not tell His children where.”

“And now it’s released?” Dean looked alarmed. “That isn’t good.”

“This town is only a taste of what is to come,” Castiel said. “This Evil is worse than Lucifer, worse than the Alpha abominations . . . none of us have ever faced something like this.”

There fell a moment of sobering silence, where Older Sam continued working quietly and the others tried to absorb the new hell that had awoken in this dimension.

“Y’know,” Dean said. “We really can’t thank you enough for making us avoid all this.”

Older Sam did not respond, but shot Dean a look that was soft and sad.

“How long has it been for you?” Sam asked. “The whole,” he waved his hand, trying to find the words for _time-and-dimension traveling, hijacking my body, and saving our world from the fate of yours event._

Older Sam thought for a moment. “About . . . a year and a half, or so.”

“Same for us,” Sam said.

Older Sam narrowed his eyes as he considered Sam. “So . . . it’s, what, 2010, 2011?”

“November 2011,”

“And who’s she?” Older Sam asked, jerking his head in Hally’s direction.

Hally stepped forward. “My name is Hally Barnes,” she said. “I’m the daughter of Brahma.”

“What, the Hindu god?” Older Sam turned to face her fully.

Under the light, without his hair swinging in the way or his body in constant motion, he looked even worse than the last time Sam had seen him, getting into a car with a Fallen angel and a demonic brother to return to their time. He was scruffy, his skin waxen, and his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot.

Time had not been kind to this Sam.

“Yeah,” Hally said.

“So you’re a demigod,”

“Percy Jackson, at your service,” Hally mock-bowed.

“I don’t remember meeting you,” Older Sam smiled. It looked weary. “What changed?”

“It was Garth’s case,” Dean said. “But we were looking for something to do after our break, and so he gave it to us. Was ‘bout a month or two ago.”

Older Sam seemed to be thinking. “I was soulless at the time. I went to go hunt the Alpha vampire.”

There was an awkward silence.

“So, uh, you really were soulless?” Dean asked.

Older Sam’s face twitched and he smiled in self-deprecation. “I don’t recommend it.”

There was more silence, in which the travellers watched Older Sam compile his arsenal of medicine.

“So,” Older Sam began. “What does Hally have to do with you guys coming here? And why are you here?”

“Right,” Sam and Dean shared a glance with each other. “Um, well, we thought we might have found a cure for Dean, which you obviously don’t need. And uh . . . there’s been some weird stuff going on. We thought it might be connected to your world, so we came here.”

“You couldn’t have just asked Gabriel?” Older Sam asked. “He’s the one who sent me to your dimension.”

“We did not know that,” Castiel narrowed his eyes.

Older Sam thought, his eyes darting between the four travellers. “Oh, right. I found that out afterwards.”

“Fucking angel!” Dean swore.

“If Gabriel didn’t send you,” Older Sam leaned against the counter. “Then who did?”

“Me,” Hally said. “I can travel through dimensions, with the help of an angel to give me a power boost. Perks of being a demigod, I guess.”

Older Sam nodded and looked over Hally with renewed interest. “Just be careful,” he said. “Most of the people who help Winchesters end up dead, or worse.”

“Way to be welcoming,” Dean grumbled.

Older Sam sighed. “I’m dying. I don’t feel like doing ‘welcoming.’”

“Okay, okay,” Dean held up his hands. “Can we help you, o’ great shaman?”

Older Sam and Sam shared a look of exasperation before Older Sam reeled off a list of things he thought _might_ help.

Sam, Dean, Castiel, and Hally left to find whatever looked promising. Hally wandered up the stairs to the higher levels. Castiel disappeared, presumably to do the same. Sam and Dean picked their way through the dead bodies, peering into rooms, looking for supplies.

“So, what do you think?” Sam asked.

“About what?” Dean asked.

“All this,” Sam said. “Our lives have gone back to what we had before you . . .”

“Went to Hell,” Dean said. “Minus the Yellow-Eyed Demon, of course.”

“Well, yeah,” Sam said. “It’s just you and me, on the road, with Bobby and Cas as our backup if we need it.”

“Wonder where this Cas is?” Dean looked around as if the self-proclaimed "sort-of angel" would suddenly appear.

“Dunno. We can ask. But we don’t have angelic wars and Leviathans and the Darkness to fight. Dean—we’ve changed a lot since my other self came into our lives.”

“And we haven’t done all that much,” Dean said. “So what’s he like?”

“I guess we’ll find out. Think we should ask him for help?”

“Sam, portals have been opening to other dimensions,” Dean hissed, “and everyone who goes in ends up in Hell. Yeah, we kinda need his help.”

“But couldn’t we be asking Gabriel?” Sam asked quietly. “He’s the one who sent Older Sam in the first place, apparently.”

“Our Gabriel has fucked off to who-knows-where. I bet this Sam doesn’t even know where the fuck his Gabriel is. We have a shortage of Gabriels!”

“I know that, Dean.”

“So I’m thinking that maybe the same thing’s been happening in his dimension, but he’s been too freaking busy to notice.”

“We could at least get access to the Bunker here; see if it’s got anything in it.”

“Man,” Dean whined, “we know there’s this amazing place out there we get to call home at some point, and it isn’t even accessible to us!”

“Just a few more years, according to Older Sam’s journal.” Sam comforted him.

Dean huffed. “Don’t patronize me, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They poked in a few more rooms, peering into cabinets and drawers. Anything that looked promising was shoved into their pockets.

“It’s weird, being in his world,” Sam said. “It’s where _he_ belongs. This is the world he knows.”

“Ugh, are you going to get all philosophical on me?” Dean demanded as he yanked open a closet. It was filled with spare doctor’s clothes. He closed it again with a _snap._

“No I just—you were with him, for that year. Has he changed?”

“You were sharing headspace with him,” Dean said. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“I wasn’t awake for that!”

“C’mon,” Dean said. “The dude is messed up. Even when I thought he was you I was freaking the fuck out because he _wasn’t_ you. He was too even-tempered, too understanding . . .”

“Hey,” Sam said without any heat.

“You know what I mean.” Dean glared, his "shut up, Sam, I'm talking," glare. “But besides that, he was too sad and too willing to kill and really, really terrifying. The dude knows how to Hunt—but he needed to re-learn how to _save_.”

Sam shuddered.

“Look, what I’m saying is that he’s an ally. We can trust him.”

“Can we?” Sam asked. “You saw the black veins, Dean. How long does this guy have until he turns on us like that girl?”

“I got nothing,” Dean said. “So let’s hope we can avoid that and find him a cure, alright?”

Their search yielded nothing helpful, like a bottle with the inscription _"Cure for the Darkness Virus!"_ and eventually Sam and Dean turned back, their pocket laden with bottles and packets and syringes.

As they neared the room Older Sam was camped out in, an eerie voice drifted towards them, singing a mournful song. “ _O’ death, o’ Death, o’ Death won't you spare me over another year?_ ”

Medicine forgotten, Sam and Dean silently withdrew their guns and stalked forward, their feet noiseless and their stance alert. “ _Oh, what is this that I can't see with ice-cold hands taking hold of me? When God is gone and the devil takes hold who'll have mercy on your soul?_ ” 

Sam and Dean peered around a corner to see a black woman, about twenty-five or so, crouching over one of the corpses. She was singing softly to herself.

Suddenly she straightened, casually turning to face the opposite end of the hallway.

“Hey, Sam.”

Sam opened to his mouth to ask what she wanted when Dean elbowed him in the side. At the other end of the hall, Older Sam swung around the corner, gun raised, and stared at the woman.

“How do you know my name?” he asked. “Who are you?”

The woman looked him up and down, assessing him “Mm. Think you mean ‘what?’ Here's a hint; you and your brother been real good for business lately.”

Dean and Sam prickled, even if the woman was not talking about _them_ , per se. It was the principal of the thing.

Older Sam’s face was deeply unhappy. “You're a Reaper.”

The woman smiled and flourished her finger. “The circle gets the square.”

“What's your name?”

“Mm, you flirtin' with me, kid? ‘Cause, no offense, but you ain't my type. And I'm not looking to get friendly with the man who helped gut my boss.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other in confusion. Reapers had a boss?

Older Sam, apparently, knew exactly what she was talking about. “I'm sorry about Death.”

“ _He ganked Death?_ ” Dean mouthed to him. Sam simply shrugged.

The Reaper was unamused. “So am I. But people are still dying, so . . . work to do, souls to collect . . . Messages to deliver.”

“What kind of messages?” Older Sam asked.

“It's over.” The Reaper said simply.

Now Older Sam was confused. “What's over?”

“You and Dean . . . Dying and coming back again and again. The old death thought it was funny. But now there's one hard, fast rule in this universe. What lives . . . dies. So the next time you or your brother bite it, well, you're not going to Heaven . . . Or Hell. One of us—and, Lord, I hope it's me—we’re gonna make a mistake and toss you out into the Empty. And nothing comes back from that. I know you're dying. I can feel it. You're unclean in the Biblical sense. So I'll be seeing you again, Sam . . . Seeing you real soon.” 

She turned and began walking away, down the hall and towards Sam and Dean. “Name's Billie, by the way,” she added before rounding the corner and coming face-to-face with the brothers.

“Hi,” Dean said when the Reaper—Billie—looked at them with raised eyebrows.

“You better be damn grateful for your world,” Billie said. “’Cause this one? It’s screwed.”

And with that she walked away and disappeared.

*

When Sam and Dean got to the room, Older Sam was not there, but Hally was. Her dark hair was pulled back with a band and her dark eyes scanned the room. Any supplies she had managed to find was neatly lined up next to her. The man that Older Sam had brought with him was lying on the floor, dead. The blackness had reached his temples.

“This isn’t good,” Hally said.

“No fucking kidding,” Dean said. “Things keep getting worse and worse for these guys, and we haven’t even met my older self.”

“Older Sam hasn’t even called him,” Sam said.

Dean stilled and shot Sam a half glance, his fingers creeping up to touch the amulet he had around his neck.

“Castiel,” Dean said and barely jumped when the angel appeared in front of him.

“How’re things going?” Dean said. “You look around the hospital?”

“No, I looked around the world.” Castiel said. “I could not find my alternate self, but listening to Angel Radio I was able to gather that my sister Hannah is in charge of Heaven, and most angels support her.”

“That’s good, right?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded. “Hannah is a good soldier. Perhaps here things have changed enough so that she thinks and acts for the good of others beyond her orders.”

“You look disturbed,” Sam noted.

Castiel hesitated. “It seems that several wars have occurred,” he said. “And most angels blame this Castiel. I would not want to be him.”

“I bet not,” Dean said. “Poor guy.”

Older Sam entered the room. He looked even worse than before; the blackness had reached the bottom of his jaw, and he was sweating slightly.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

They worked in silence, occasionally handing medicine to Older Sam for him to try. Sam worked on Older Sam’s computer, looking up different cures they could try. At one point, despite their knowledge that it would not work, both Hally and Castiel tried healing him with their magic. They were right; nothing they did made the darkness under his skin go away. As the hours crawled by, more and more of Older Sam’s veins turned black. The blackness would reach his temple soon, Sam knew, and then Older Sam would be dead.

As night fell again and settled on the town, Older Sam began deteriorating. Though he did not attack them, he began to get that wild, feral gleam in his eyes. He was drenched in sweat, and his hands were shaking almost uncontrollably.

He stood up from the stool he had been sitting on and stumbled, shaking his head like a wet dog.

“Sam!” Dean said. “Sam. Sammy, you okay? Sam!” he gave Older Sam a shake, and Older Sam’s head rolled about.

Older Sam’s gaze was unfocused, as if he was hearing something or seeing something none of the rest of them could.

With a lurch, he made it over to his computer. Sam got out of the way, but Older Sam did not seem to be even aware of their presence. He typed something laboriously into the search bar.

“What is it?” Dean hissed when Sam sucked in a breath.

“The Reaper said it,” Sam said. “He’s unclean— _in the Biblical sense_.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“He needs to be purified.” Castiel said and strode over the bag Older Sam had left on the counter. He yanked it open and, inside, he found matches and a vat of Holy Oil.

“Of course he’d just have that in his Go-bag,” Dean said as Castiel set it down on the counter. Older Sam had stood from his computer. Watching him walk was like having vertigo; he wobbled and lurched and stumbled, but somehow he made it to the supplies. With shaking fingers he soaked some cloth with the Oil and Dean lit it on fire. Older Sam pulled his hair out of the way and held the flame to his neck with shaking fingers.

Sam thought it was going to work—and then Older Sam began to scream.

“SAMMY!” Dean roared, leaping forward, only to be stopped by Castiel. “Get outta the way, Cas!”

“No, Dean. Look.” The angel was watching Older Sam with his usual intense look.

Though he was screaming, Older Sam didn’t take the flame away and, underneath, the blackness in his veins was burning away like curling ash in a fire.

“Oh my god . . .” Hally murmured.

Older Sam let out a gasp and opened his eyes when the last of it was gone. He immediately dropped the flame, which burned softly on the metal table, and looked around wildly.

“Hey,” Sam said. Older Sam blinked and looked at him.

“So I wasn’t hallucinating,” he said. “’S good to know.”

“You’re cured, right?” Dean demanded. Older Sam quickly unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it down. His skin, from his chest to his temple, was clean and bare, save for his anti-possession tattoo.

"Seems like it," Older Sam said. 

“Great,” Dean sighed. “That’s that.”

“Now it’s time to save the others,” Older Sam said.

*

“Dean’s on his way,” Older Sam said as he peered at his phone. “Apparently something was going on at his end, too.”

“Like what?” Sam asked.

“Dunno,” Older Sam. “He said he’d tell me when he meets up with us.”

“Where are we meeting?” Dean asked. “The Bunker?”

“Mm? Oh, yeah.” Older Sam found a car devoid of any dead bodies and big enough to fit them all. In a few minutes, Dean had hotwired the thing and climbed into the driver’s seat. Older Sam settled next to him and began giving him directions to Lebanon, Kansas.

They got the hell out of the town, after that. Apparently, Older Sam had been infected by the Darkness in Superior, Nebraska, which did not seem like superior treatment to Sam.

It also wasn’t very far away from the Bunker—46 minutes, according to Older Sam’s GPS. Dean got them there in thirty.

Older Dean wasn’t there, yet. Apparently there was some construction going on, and he had to take a detour.

Older Sam directed them to a small family-run restaurant. “I’m starving,” he told them shortly when Dean protested they could just eat at the Bunker. “I haven’t eaten anything but pudding in the last forty-eight hours, and I’m the one with the directions. Pull over.”

Dean pulled over.

The owner of the restaurant, a forty-year-old plump woman by the name of Tabitha, knew Older Sam and Dean by sight. She was tall, able to look Sam comfortably in the eye. Her blond hair, streaked with silver, was pulled back in a bun and her sparkling dark eyes were warm and framed with crow’s feet. She wore little make-up.

“William!” she greeted him.

“Hey, Tabitha,” Older Sam said and herded them over to a booth. “May we get the usual’s all around?”

“O’ course,” she said and scanned the table. "And you, sweetie?" Hally smiled at her and gave Tabbitha her order. As Tabbitha's gaze traveled across the table, they landed on the brothers. “Cousins?” she asked as she got a good look at them.

“Yeah,” Older Sam said. “Bobby and John.”

Tabitha clucked her tongue and smiled at the brothers. “’S good to meet ya both. And you, Steve? You want your normal?”

She was talking to Castiel, who blinked at her. Sam knew him well enough by now to know that the angel was completely confused.

“Yeah,” Older Sam said. “Sorry. He’s had a rough night.”

Tabitha chuckled. “I hear you. Be right out with it, guys.” And with that she hurried away.

“Steve?” Sam asked.

“Cas’ alias when he was human last year.” Older Sam supplied.

“Where is Cas?” Dean asked. “I’d’ve thought he’d be with you guys.”

Older Sam’s face pinched with concern. “I don’t know. I lost track of him when the Darkness escaped.”

“Lost track how?”

“Lost track like we figured out the Mark would release the Darkness and I hightailed it out of there to stop Dean.”

“Stop Dean from doing what?”

Older Sam looked away. “Dealing with Death, that’s what.”

Dean put his head in his hands. “I’m _still_ making Deals?”

Older Sam breathed out through his nose. “I haven’t exactly had time to talk it out with him before shit went to hell— _again_.”

“So what’s happened?” Sam asked. “Between now and last time we met?”

“A lot,” Older Sam said. He looked grim, and seemed unwilling to speak.

“Let me rephrase,” Sam said. “The heavy stuff can wait for D—the other Dean. Has anything happened that hasn’t been completely bad?”

Older Sam thought about it for a moment. “One terrible thing that happened was that some kids made a musical based off of Chuck’s books.”

“You’re shitting me.” Dean said, horror crossing his face.

“What books?” Hally asked.

“The Prophet Chuck wrote the Winchester Gospels to tell the world the Truth.” Castiel said. “Once his service was done, he was allowed to disappear.”

“I need to find these books,” Hally muttered to herself.

“No!” Sam, Dean, and Older Sam said at once.

Hally smirked.

“Damn it,” Dean muttered.

Tabitha chose that moment to return with their drinks. “The rest’ll be out in ‘bout ten minutes,” she told them.

“Thank you,” Older Sam said. He took a sip of his water and looked at Sam. “And you guys?”

“Us what?” Dean asked.

“What have you been up to?” Older Sam asked.

“Well,” Dean said, coughing awkwardly. “We, uh, gave normal life a shot.”

“Really?” Older Sam smiled. “What was it like?”

“It was . . . it was nice,” Sam offered. “Different.”

“It was just a break,” Dean said.

Older Sam shrugged. “Sometimes you need a break. There weren’t any residual effects from the, uh . . .”

“Time travel possession?” Sam asked. “No. I’m good.”

“Great,” Older Sam said. “That’s . . . that’s great.”

“Our universe is quiet compared to yours,” Sam admitted.

“Quiet is good,” Older Sam said. “Very, very good. Enjoy it.”

“I know I am,” Hally said. “This is crazier than anything I’ve ever seen, and I went to a party college.”

They fell into a companionable silence until Tabitha bustled back with a tray of food. Dean scarfed his down quickly, to the disgust of his brother and his alternate brother. Castiel picked at the food, nibbling a few bites and making faces. Hally finished her quickly and quietly and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked in alarm.

“To find a motel,” Hally replied. “I’m going to stay there and gather my strength. In three days I’m returning home. I’ll meet you out back here, okay?”

“Okay,” Sam said cautiously. “Thank you.”

“There’s plenty of room in the Bunker,” Older Sam said. “You’d be comfortable there.”

Hally smiled thinly. “I’d hate to have four Winchesters together.”

And with that she left.

“Interesting person,” Older Sam said.

“Yeah,” Sam shrugged. “She’ll be fine. She can take care of herself.”

“Against angels and demons?”

“Yep,”

A familiar engine rumble sped down the street and parked. The door creaking open could just be heard of the background chatter in the restaurant.

“You okay?” Older Sam asked Dean, who had turned quite pale.

“Fine,” he replied tersely as the door opened. From their position, they could not see it.

Older Sam clearly didn’t believe him. “He’s cured,” he told his alternate brother. “He’s sorry about what he’s done.”

“Is said I’m fine!” Dean said roughly.

“Sure,” Older Dean said as he walked up to the table. “That’s what we always say.”

Older Dean looked them over, taking them in. Sam did the same.

This Dean was different from the Demon Dean he had last seen. The Demon version of his brother was cock-sure and filled with violent, terrible power. Though Older Sam had somehow managed to talk him down from killing them all, Sam could see how fragile a hold his other self had on the demon. It was only the residual human emotions inside that had held him back, and that had been liable to break into pieces at the drop of a hat.

Older Dean now looked . . . older. His hair was in its usual style, but Sam could see the weight of time in the lines around his brother’s eyes. He had never thought of Dean as old. Even now, when _his_ brother was thirty-two, he still thought of him as a young man, twenty-six or so; the age he rejoined Dean to go hunting.

Now, however, he faced a Dean whose hardships had aged him. It was jarring to see.

“So,” Older Dean said. “I think I owe you an apology for the last time I saw you guys.”

“Well, you were a demon,” Castiel said. “It’s in their nature.”

Older Dean looked over Castiel and snorted. “Still. Sorry for trying to kill you all and take over your world.”

“You did not—”

“It’s fine,” Sam interrupted Castiel and looked Older Dean straight in the eye. “Really. It’s not like I was cleaner than you or anything.”

Older Dean shrugged.

“You eat?” Older Sam asked his brother.

“Yeah,” Older Dean sighed. “I just kinda wanna get home right now, y’know?”

Older Sam groaned. “The Styne’s left it in chaos.”

“Fuck,” Older Dean closed his eyes, brow pinched. “C’mon. I got a lot to tell you and you guys,” he looked over at the travelers. “We should be able to help you.”

“Thanks,” Sam said.

They paid and left, listening to Older Dean fill Older Sam in on what happened in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Older Sam choked when Older Dean grimly told him about the loss of Jenna’s soul and they were all horrified to learn about Amara being the incarnation (or something) of the Darkness.

They pulled off in front of a low hill with metal steps leading down to a thick metal door. Sam and Dean watched as Older Dean opened the door and led the way into the darkness.

Lights flickered on at their presence and Sam caught his first glimpse of the Bunker.

The place was enormous. Metal steps led down to a room where a map of the world sat, surrounded by chairs. The shelves lining the walls, strangely enough, were empty. All of the books had been pulled from them and thrown chaotically into the center of the room. The pile smelt like gasoline. Sam had a suspicion of how and why the books ended up there.

“Wow,” Dean said.

“No kidding,” Sam agreed.

“All right,” Older Sam was saying to Older Dean. “I still don't understand. I mean, I thought the Darkness was a woman, not a child.”

“Well, same here. I don't know. Maybe whatever I saw wasn't real. Maybe it was a vision.”

Sam flinched at the word, but ignored Dean’s probing look.

“Vision?” Older Sam sounded skeptical.

“Yeah.” Older Dean shrugged and started down the steps.

“Huh. Pretty weird.”

“Yeah, weird with a weird cherry on a weird top.” Older Dean caught a look at the book pile. “We’ve got to get a maid. But, you know, one with a-a little uniform and really big, uh—” there was a noise.

Immediately all four of them drew their guns and crept forward. There was someone behind the book pile, and Sam could tell Older Sam and Dean were not expecting anybody.

Older Sam flung himself behind the pile and stopped dead. When the others joined him, they watched in shock as Cas—the sort-of angel Cas—looked up at them. His blue eyes were heavy and full of despair, and his regular outfit—the suit and trench coat—was stained with his blood. Sam could see the rips in the fabric; Cas had been stabbed, multiple times.

He’d been _tortured_.

“Help me,” Cas said and passed out.


	2. I’ll Find Out What Broke Me Soon Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas needs help, and in the meantime Sam and Dean try to figure out what they're hunting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, to clarify: the events in season 10 and 11 happen. If you read the last chapter of Unchangeable, then you know that I went on until Christmas of 2014—which messed me up for seasons 10 and 11. My predictions for season 10 were far off, but I’m doing my best to work with what I put down and still keep everything somewhat canon. I did make a few edits to the last chapter of _Unchangeable_ —because, I’m sorry, I couldn’t pass up Dark Charlie. So if you don’t want to re-read the entire fic, at least go re-read the last epilogue part. Please bear with me, and if I mess something up please RESEPCTIFULLY let me know. Thank you!
> 
> Disclaimer: The title is from Radical Face’s song Glory.
> 
> Also! Do I own Bucky Barnes? No—because his life is still terrible and he should honestly be helped and loved and taken care of because he is a freaking PRISONER OF WAR and a freaking VICTIM OF HYDRA. *Ahem*. I also don’t own Supernatural.

  
_“It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace.”_ ― Chuck Palahniuk

Older Sam and Dean reacted instantly. Cas was hauled to his feet where he staggered and almost fell against Older Sam’s broad chest. Before Sam and Dean could do more than gape, the sort-of angel was whisked off through a doorway and down a hall. 

“What just happened?” Dean asked.

“Let’s find out,” Sam said, striding after their alternate selves.

The Bunker was even more amazing the further they went in. It seemed never ending; there was a fully stocked kitchen, rooms upon rooms of file cabinets and books . . . Sam honestly couldn’t wait for his grandfather to come through.

Hopefully they could prevent his death this time around. And destroy the Knight utterly.

They passed a room propped ajar. When Sam peered inside, he saw a TV mounted to the wall, a bed neatly made, a dresser, and shelves of books lining the wall. It looked impersonal, but Sam caught a glimpse of a faded and worn picture of Jessica propped up next to the bed and knew that this was Older Sam’s bedroom.

Older Sam and Dean took Cas to what looked like a guest bedroom. The short angel was placed on the bed and Older Sam ran to get water from a nearby bathroom.

“Cas!” Older Dean snapped his fingers in front of the angel. “Y’hearing me?”

“I can hear you,” Cas said faintly.

“Is this a side effect from the stolen Grace?” Dean asked.

“No,” Older Dean said. “Cas has full Grace right now.”

“So he’s not a sort-of angel?” Sam asked. Cas raised his head, and Sam saw that his eyes were bloodshot and his pupils were a sickly brown, like Pink Eye gone wild. Something was really wrong with the now-full-angel.

“What are you doing here?” Cas asked. Beside them, Castiel stirred.

“There is a hunt where we thought you might be able to help.”

Cas’ brows furrowed. “What is the hunt?”

“We’ll hear about it in a bit!” Older Dean snarled. “Cas, what the fuck happened?”

Cas closed his eyes. “Rowena cursed me.”

“Sonova bitch!” Dean cursed.

Castiel scanned his counterpart. “I cannot cure you,” he said at last.

Cas chuckled humorlessly. “I am not surprised,” he said. “Hannah could not cure me, either.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

Cas’ grin slid off his face. “The curse gives me incredible strength, but also drives me rabid.”

“Seems to be a theme lately,” Older Dean commented.

Cas shot Older Dean a confused look. “I suppose? I attacked Crowley.”

“Did you kill him?” Older Dean asked. Crowley was the King of Hell, if Sam remembered correctly. He was the one who lured Demon Dean away from Older Sam and gave him the spell to render the Demon Cure unusable.

Older Dean sounded hopeful at the idea of Crowley’s death, but resigned; Sam could only guess that the alternative selves tried to kill the King of Hell before and failed.

Cas closed his eyes. “I do not know. He may have smoked out.”

“Okay,” Older Dean sighed. “And the stabbing? It wasn’t kinky stuff with Reapers, was it?”

Cas opened his eyes and glared at Older Dean, who cracked a smile.

It was the first time Older Dean had smiled—honest-to-goodness smiled—since Sam had been here. He had leered, he had half-smiled . . . but now he actually smiled.

It was nice to see something familiar on a face belonging to Dean.

“Hey,” Older Sam said, coming in with a glass of water, a blanket, and a bottle of pills. “Cas, what happened?”

“I was tortured,” Cas said as Older Sam wended his way past Sam, Dean, and Castiel. “By two of my brothers—Efram and Jonah.”

Castiel made an angry sound, making a half-abortive motion towards Cas. “Efram and Jonah tortured you?”

Cas looked away. “They told me that every time I had to choose between Heaven and the Winchesters, I chose Sam and Dean. They no longer considered me their brother. They wanted to know where Metatron was.”

Older Sam looked murderous. Sam remembered how easy and friendly the two were in their dimension, how torn up they both were at the sight of Demon Dean, how Cas had stood up with barely any powers, and helped Older Sam talk down a Knight of Hell. He could not imagine how the Older Sam and Dean must be feeling now, to hear that Cas had been tortured because of their friendship.

“How did you escape?” Dean asked as Older Sam lifted the cup of water to Cas’ lips. Cas drank greedily, his bloodshot eyes returning somewhat to normal.

“Hannah came,” Cas said, pushing the cup of water away. At this, Older Sam and Dean looked relieved. Cas, if anything, looked grimmer. “Hannah freed me, tried to get me to tell her where you were.”

“It’s Hannah,” Older Sam said. “We trust her.”

“It was too convenient.” Cas said. “She marked my ribs, remember? How did she find me?”

“Maybe she was tracking Efram and Jonah?”

“But why?” Cas pressed.

Both Older Sam and Dean looked resigned. “She had you tortured,” Older Sam said.

Sam felt cold.

Cas nodded. “She did. Jonah turned on her and killed her. Efram and Jonah are also dead.”

He didn’t explain how, but Sam had a pretty good guess.

“So, yet another ally down for the count.” Older Sam said. “Great.”

Cas reached out for the blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders. “You should also chain me,” he said. “I may go feral again and try to harm you.”

“This is going to be a long couple’a days,” Older Dean groaned.

*

They sat in the room with the pile of books. Cas was still wrapped in a blanket, handcuffed to the table. Sam sat in a comfortable easy chair near one of the shelves, leafing through a book that smelled faintly of gasoline.

Older Sam sat at the table next to Cas’, joined by Dean, and had his laptop out. He seemed to have several tabs open, flicking through them now and again and refreshing them. Castiel stood in a corner, stony-faced and unyielding. Older Dean, after concluding that the witch Rowena who had cursed Cas (and who was also, apparently, Crowley’s birth mother) was the only one who could lift it. He had then proceeded to call Crowley.

Sam wondered if the Older Winchesters realized just how screwed up their lives were. They needed to hunt down the King of Hell’s mother, who also happened to be the owner of the Book of the Damned (as Older Sam had explained to them) and the only person who could find her, apparently, was said King of Hell, who also happened to be the most powerful demon (currently) with all of Hell at his command. He was the one who had gotten Older Dean to take on the Mark of Cain in the first place and encourage Demon Dean’s more demonic habits.

“We couldn’t just use a locator spell?” Sam tried.

Older Sam shook his head. “She’s warded,” was his only response. 

“Come on, Crowley, pick up.” Older Dean muttered. “I've left you a dozen messages. Why isn't he answering the phone?”

Older Sam rolled his eyes. “Because he's a dick, and that's not breaking news.”

At least their older selves knew _that_ much.

“He's gotta have Rowena in his sights, right? I mean, she did try to take him out.”

Cas interceded then. “He's not gonna deliver Rowena to us just so she can lift the spell. He'd rather let it do whatever it's gonna do to me.”

Well, wasn’t that just cheerful. Sam and Dean shared a glance, and Sam knew that his brother was thinking along the same lines as he was.

Older Dean glared at the room. “He's gotta be up to something.”

Older Sam looked like he wanted to stuff his brother in a closet. “Yeah. Again, not breaking news. Metatron is also off the grid. He stole your car in Blaine, Missouri, right?”

“Yeah.” Cas nodded.

Sam blinked, confused, but Dean just shrugged at him. So apparently Cas learned how to drive at some point. Interesting. Hadn't Dean mentioned that at some point?

“Yeah,” Older Sam peered at his laptop screen, “uh, no accidents, incidents, violations, or anything remotely interesting involving a crappy '78 Continental Mark V.”

Sam saw Dean stuff his fist in his mouth as he tried to not burst out laughing—his mirth was only doubled at the wounded look Cas adorned.

“You think it's crappy?” Cas asked, his tone hurt.

Older San and Dean shared a glance. “Eye of the beholder,” Older Dean offered.

“Yeah,” Older Sam agreed.

Cas looked mollified before it soured into something else. “A shut-in for centuries, former scribe of God. You wouldn't think he would be a good driver.”

“I would look for him,” Castiel said. “But my power is greatly decreased in this dimension, and I have not seen the Scribe of God in many centuries.”

“Be glad,” Cas told him. From the look on his face, Sam was quite sure he did not want to know just how the Scribe of God had screwed them over. Both Dean and Castiel opened their mouths, most likely to ask, when Older Sam interrupted. Sam thanked Older Sam’s timing.

“You know what?” Older Sam said, shooting Dean a warning look. “I'll look for unusual occurrences at places he might hang out. Cas?”

“Places Metatron might hang out.” Older Dean added helpfully.

“Um . . . I mean, he loves waffles. You could try places that have those.”

Sam resisted the urge to groan.

Older Dean shared a look with Older Sam. “Okay, so, every restaurant in the entire country.”

Cas suddenly seized up and fell to the ground again.

“Cas!” Older Dean asked, starting forward.

“Ah!” Cas yelled. All four of the brothers were on him, trying to figure out what was going on. The Deans were shouting, the Sams were asking hurried questions, and Castiel remained where he stood, looking mildly concerned in his corner.

“Cas?” Older Dean felt Cas’ forehead. Sam resisted telling him that Cas was an _angel_. They didn't run temperatures. “Cas, hey! Easy! Easy! Cas?”

All Cas did beneath their fingers was shudder and groan.

“What can we do?” Sam asked, looking, wide eyed, at his older self. Older Sam looked back helplessly.

“I don’t know. Cas? Hey. Are you okay?”

With a shiver, Cas calmed down and looked at Older Sam with faint irritation. “Relative to what?”

“You know where you are? What's the date?” Older Dean and Dean demanded at the same time. Sam shook his head to ward off the bizarreness.

“Earth. Several billion years from the beginning.”

Sam choked on a laugh.

“Come on, buddy. Come on.” Older Dean helped Cas sit up and rested a hand on his back, supporting him.

“It's like I was . . .” Cas paused, searching for words, “inside a blender that was set to purée for a tomato salsa.”

And _that_ was an analogy Sam never thought he would hear the angel say. He had forgotten how human this Cas had become.

“And you're the tomato?” Dean asked.

“In this analogy, yes.” Cas said.

Older Dean looked worried. “Yeah.”

“Cas, what was that?” Older Sam asked. “You scared the crap out of us.”

Cas blinked up at him and said, flatly, “I blacked out for a lot of it. But I . . . I don't know. It overwhelmed me. I couldn't control it.”

Older Dean looked at Older Sam. “Let's get him up. Come on, come on.” Together they heaved him to his feet where he staggered only slightly. “Here you go. We gotta find that witch.”

“Yeah,” Sam and Older Sam said at the same time, both wincing when both Deans and Cas looked at them. Cas sat slowly down on his chair and Older Dean resettled the blanket around his shoulders.

“Where do we start?” Sam continued, ignoring the weird expression on his brother’s face.

“What can I do to help?” Cas asked, his face resolute.

Sam would protest is the Older Winchesters even _thought_ about using the sick angel.

But Older Sam immediately replied; “No, no, no, you just, uh, sit there and take a breather, try and put yourself back together.”

“Okay.” Cas didn’t look happy about it. “I'll do my best. It's . . . It's difficult with these voices.”

_PainpainfearnononononoFIRE . . ._

Older Sam’s memories rose unbidden to his mind, for the year where Older Sam was hounded by the manic feet of Lucifer. Sam shuddered, the hair on the back of his neck rising as he looked at Cas with barely veiled fear and worry.

Older Sam must have jumped to the same thing, but his response was clearly aiming for sarcastic instead of concern. “Now there are voices?”

“Are these voices telling you to hurt someone?” Older Dean asked.

“No. Guys,” Cas looked tired and frustrated. “I'm—I’m hearing Angel radio.” From the look Older Sam and Dean shared, it had been a long time since Cas had been able to do that. Cas continued. “It's a lot of chatter. They're . . . They've been looking for me ever since I escaped, as well as scouring the earth for the perp.” The four Winchesters looked at him with raised eyebrows. “It's slang for ‘perpetrator’.” Cas said exasperatedly.

“Ah.” Older Dean said, nodding seriously. Sam could see the glimmer of amusement in his eyes, however.

“We know that, Cas,” Sam said. “It’s just . . . odd, hearing you say it.”

Cas looked confused. “It is?”

“Yeah, thank you.” Older Sam said, shooting a warning glance at Sam. “Um, any . . . ‘perp’ in particular?”

Cas nodded. “Metatron.”

“The Scribe of God, right?” Dean asked.

“Indeed,” Castiel said. Sam nearly jumped; their angel had been so quiet that Sam had almost— _almost_ —forgot he was present. It was impossible to forget the angel; the very air around him crackled with power. The Older Winchesters had grown used to it, but when Sam had first come around, he had nearly jumped out of his skin. Being next to Castiel was like standing next to a continual lightning strike. Cas didn’t have that feel, but apparently he was not in possession of his Grace.

“Metatron has been missing for centuries,” Castiel was saying when Sam tuned back in. “None of the Garrisons have been able to find him.”

“Well, the Garrisons didn’t have the Winchesters,” Cas said to his other self. “They're doubling the effort to find him, so . . . If we need to get hold of him, we better do it soon. 

Older Dean groaned. “Yeah, before the God squad does. All right, well, first thing's first.”

Older Sam had been peering at his computer. “Listen to this,” he said, bringing their attention to him. “May be something here. Uh, in Denver, three women were at this Café Elta, when their waiter, for no apparent reason, stabbed and killed one. One survived and the third vanished after furniture seemed to slide around by itself. What do you think?”

“Witches,” Sam said as Older Dean pulled out his phone.

“It’s always fucking witches,” Dean grumbled.

“Hi,” Older Dean said, using his ‘charming’ voice on whoever was on the other end of the phone. “Who's your lead on the Café Elta investigation?”

As Older Dean got information, Older Sam beckoned Sam over.

“Yeah?” Sam asked.

“You guys can stay here,” Older Sam said quietly. “Rowena will be long gone, so Dean and I are just gonna go interrogate the surviving witch. Research whatever you need to.”

“What, and put the books away?” Sam grimaced.

“You don’t have to,” Older Sam said. “Of course not. It’s our mess. But most of the books are still in storage. The books here . . . well, the Stynes were going to burn some important books, but mostly they were going to burn books like _The Wizard of Oz_ and _The Jungle Book_. First editions, but still.”

“What are the . . .”

“Men of Letters,”

“Them, right, what are they doing with _The Wizard of Oz_?”

Older Sam grinned. “Oz is real.”

Dean had taken an interest in the conversation now. “You serious?”

“I’m serious,” Older Sam said. “Not joke. Dean and I met Dorothy, defeated the Wicked Witch . . .”

“Fucking hell, man.” Dean said. “That’s not in your journal!”

“I forgot,” Older Sam said. “Would you like me to make another journal, for all the stuff I forgot?”

“Only if you have the time,” Sam interceded. “We’ve all got a lot on our minds, so don’t do it if you don’t have the time. Dean and I are pretty good at figuring out stuff.”

“I know we are,” Older Sam laughed, the smile sliding off when Older Dean hung up and turned to face them.

“Dean?” Cas asked.

“They’ve still got her,” Older Dean said. “We need to get to Denver now.”

“Got it,” Older Sam said, closing his laptop and standing up. He was still broader than Sam, but Sam was pleased to see that he was gaining on Older Sam’s bulk. “Cas, the other . . .”

“Winchesters,” Sam offered. Older Sam nodded gratefully.

“Right, the other Winchesters will stay here and research their problem. If you need anything, just get them.”

“I understand,” Cas said. The Older Winchesters nodded and smiled at Cas and the dimension travelers before disappearing deeper into the Bunker.

Once the footsteps of the Older Winchesters disappeared, Cas looked awkwardly at them and asked, “How are you doing?”

“We’re good,” Sam said. “There’s been no Apocalypse or anything like that.”

Cas closed his eyes, relief flitting across his face. “That is good.”

“What was the deal with Demon Dean?” Dean asked.

“That would be a sensitive topic,” Cas said and looked at his other self. “Do you want to sit down?”

Castiel looked more confused than he normally did. “Why?”

Cas looked at his chair. “It is comfortable.”

“Is it?”

“I think so,” Cas said. “But I am odd.”

Hesitantly, like he was not sure if he was doing it right, Castiel pulled a chair out across from Cas and sat gingerly down, as if it might bite him. Sam and Dean retook their seats, and Sam quickly compared the two angels sitting at the adjacent table.

Castiel’s dark hair was wilder than Cas’, Castiel’s expression rigid where Cas’ was flexible and wrinkled slightly. Cas looked older than Castiel. Perhaps it was due to Cas’ stint as a human; either way, life had not been kind.

Castiel was also not dressed in the patented Castiel Trench Coat. It was slightly odd seeing him like that, but Sam remembered he had not been dressed in it when he came to 2009.

But then again, he had appeared in a white button-down shirt. Sam guessed the angels who had tortured him had removed the trench coat. Perhaps Cas would get it back—his angel powers had to be good for something, right?

Things change, he supposed. Even immortal angels.

“Our brothers and sisters are trying to kill you,” Castiel said once he was comfortable—or settled. He sat straight up, back unyielding and tense.

Poor Jimmy.

“They are,” Cas said, and his throat worked. He looked like he might cry, and Sam felt intensely sorry for the poor guy.

“Why?” Castiel asked.

Cas heaved a sigh and looked at the pile of books behind him. “I have made many mistakes,” he said. “I have failed over and over again. I have Fallen many times, barely clinging to my Grace. As Jonah said to me . . .” his face convulsed in grief, “if there is a choice between Heaven and Sam and Dean, I choose Sam and Dean.”

“Sorry,” Sam said.

Cas shook his head. “It is my choice.”

“But why do you make it?” Castiel prodded. “I have thought long and hard about what you said the last time we spoke, and yet I have barely begun to understand. I have been around Sam and Dean for over a year now, and while I agree that they are unique among humans, what makes them so special that you would give up our Family? If the angels who tried to start the Apocalypse are dead, then why did you not return?”

Sam and Dean shared a glance. Castiel had a point. How many times had they said that family came first?

_Family don’t end in blood, boy_ , Bobby had once said. And Sam and Dean—well, they both considered Castiel family at this point. It was not even because they knew how cool Cas _could_ turn out to be; it was because there was something charming about the wooden tax-collecting angel. However, both knew that while Castiel was most of their family (Bobby, Ellen, Jo, and Pamela made up the rest) Castiel himself had an entire Host of immortal angels he called Family. They meant less to him than he did to them. They were mortal, fleeting.

Cas heaved a sigh. “The reasons—for which there are many—for my choice lie in my dimensional circumstances. Lucifer was freed and Heaven helped it become so. Our Father had left us, and the Host wondered why the Apocalypse should be prevented.”

“Because it’d kill a lot of people, dammit!” Dean snapped.

Cas nodded. “There were a few among us who agreed. However, most of my brethren reasoned that since you would die soon anyways, it mattered little. So I joined the Winchesters as they tried to stop Lucifer and Heaven and Hell.”

“But didn’t they release Lucifer in the first place?” Castiel asked. Sam winced and looked away, shame churning thickly in his gut.

“They did,” Cas said. “Unknowingly. Once they realized what they had done, they were the only ones doing anything about it. After we stopped the Apocalypse, I continued my association with Sam and Dean. I saw them as the only ones trying to save the world from destroying itself. When I tried to do things I knew they were against, I saw why; every one of those ventures turned on me and worsened the world. I am not wise enough, I think, to make moral judgments.”

“What, and we are?” Dean stared. “We fuck up all the time, Cas. Even in _our_ dimension.”

“You do,” Cas said and smiled wanly. “But you are often stupid for the right reasons.”

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself,” Sam said.

Cas chuckled. “Probably.”

“What happened to Gabriel?” Dean asked.

Cas shrugged. “I have no idea,” he said. “Once he told Sam and I what he had done, he left. We haven’t seen him since.”

“None of his usual tricks have appeared?” Sam frowned.

“No,” Cas said. “So it was good you came to us, because I am sure your Gabriel and ours would not help. He is . . . difficult.”

“You’re telling me,” Dean snorted. “So what now?”

“What happened that made you come here?” Cas asked.

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance and Dean leaned on his arms, elbows on the table. “Okay, it’s like this. Sam and I got back into hunting after taking some time off. We poked around the Campbell Compound and got all the info we could from there, and then hit the road.”

“You returned to hunting,” Cas said.

“We did, yeah,” Dean said. “Saved a couple people here and there; rugaru in Boise, Windigo outside Moab . . . the usual stuff. No wars, no ancient, slaughterhouse building monsters from Purgatory . . . bupkis. So, anyways. We were working some case in Gunnison, Colorado, when Bobby called us up. Apparently some people disappeared through a Portal in a park in Pinedale, Wyoming and the place they disappeared in was covered in sulfur dust.”

“Sulfur dust?” Cas’ brown crinkled. “That . . . is odd.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “So we booked it up there and started poking around. We saw the next Portal open—like, right in front of us. Three people got sucked into it, and I felt . . .”

Dean broke off, shuddering.

“It was like Hell,” Castiel said. “People were being sucked into Hell.”

“So why come here?” Cas asked.

“Because one person got sucked in. Twice.” Dean picked up the narrative again. “They were dressed differently, with different clothes and different buddies . . .”

“A person from two dimensions got sucked into the Portal.” Cas supplied.

“Pretty much,” Sam said. “And the only true experience we’ve had with dimensions is with you guys.”

“So you found a way here,” Cas said. “You are as resourceful as this world’s Winchesters. And as crazy.”

Sam and Dean raised an eyebrow at the sick angel.

“Can you help us?” Castiel asked.

Cas shrugged. “I have no idea,” he said. “But there’s so much research here that, to be honest, none of us have been through everything. Feel free to start looking.”

Sam and Dean looked at the pile of books.

Cas rolled his eyes. “No, there are far more books and files. Sam kept a list of all the organizational methods the Men of Letters used. You should be able to find it in his room.”

“Great,” Dean smiled humorlessly at Sam. “Looks like we’ll be reading for the foreseeable future.”

“Sounds like it,” Sam said. “Will you help us, Cas?”

Cas shook his head regretfully. “I’m going to attempt to find Metatron.”

Sam remembered the look of hate and betrayal that had crossed Cas’ face when the Scribe’s name had been mentioned. “Okay,” he said. “Give us a call if you want help, okay?”

“Okay,” Cas said. “Good luck.”

“And you,” Sam said. He stood up and beckoned Dean and Castiel to follow him. They did so, returning back into the depths of the Bunker.

*

They didn’t realize something was too late until Sam, his nose buried in a book, heard a shout from above.

Dean and Castiel were elsewhere; Sam raced in the direction of the shout and came across Older Sam, who was descending a set of stairs to the deeper levels. Older Sam barely acknowledged Sam as he entered a room and hurried over to a secret-door-bookshelf. Inside, Older Dean stood in front of a tiny red headed woman, rummaging through a suitcase.

The woman was talking; “—happened precisely when I removed the Mark? The book wasn't specific. Yes, I read quite a bit of it. What new hell has Dean Winchester unleashed upon the world?”

Dean’s shoulders were tense, and Sam rather wanted to strangle the woman. She must have been the witch they were after.

Older Sam strode into the room. “Dean!”

Older Dean looked over. “Yeah?”

“I can't find Cas,” Older Sam said grimly.

“What?” Older Dean and Sam asked at the same time.

“He's not there,” Older Sam restated. “He—he—he broke free. He's gone.”

“Shit,” Older Dean swore.

“Okay,” Sam said. He turned to the redheaded witch. “Where would he go?”

She looked almost comically taken aback, eyes wide as though she could fake innocence. “How would I know?”

“It’s your spell,” Older Sam snapped.

“It is, but I’m not in control of them after that. I just direct who they kill, Samuel.”

Sam winced alongside his older self. No one— _no one_ —called him Samuel. Not even his teachers at Stanford.

“It’s Sam,” Older Sam said through gritted teeth.

But the witch (Rowena was her name, Sam recalled) was looking quite delighted, flicking her eyes between Sam and Older Sam, with glee.

“What’s this?” she asked. “ _Two_ Samuels? Oh boys, what have you gotten yourselves into?”

“None of your goddamned business,” Older Dean snarled. “Where the hell is Cas?”

“That’s not the important thing, Dean,” Older Sam said. “We can track Cas. Rowena, you need to reverse the spell.”

Rowena waved her hand. “Pfft. Fine. _If_ you tell me about this delicious little conundrum.” Her eyes lingered on Sam, and he felt quite uncomfortable, despite the fact that he had well over a foot on her.

Older Sam and Dean exchanged looks. “Maybe,” Older Sam finally said. He glared at Rowena. “But Cas has to be as good as new.”

Rowena looked unsatisfied, but had clearly dealt with the Older Winchesters before. Sam figured she’d push it later, but in order to get out of the dungeon, she knew she had to go along with most of their terms.

Sam ran into Dean and Castiel outside of the room, both looking harried.

“We heard shouting,” Dean said as soon as he saw Sam.

“Cas is missing,” Sam said. “Older Sam and Dean found Rowena and they plan to use her to remove the curse.”

Dean’s eyebrows had risen during Sam’s explanation. “She’s a witch, and a powerful one. How are they going to contain her?”

Sam shrugged. “None of them questioned it. I think they’ve imprisoned her before.”

Dean whistled. “Damn.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Anyway, they’re going to go find Cas.”

Castiel, when Sam looked over at him, looked frustrated. “I cannot locate my other self. The Enochian carved into his ribs is preventing it.”

“Can you locate the curse?” Sam asked.

Castiel narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “I can sense the energy like a . . . cloud.”

“Good enough,” Dean said. “C’mon.” He strode to the staircase that would take them to the garage. Their boots echoed loudly on the walls, and Sam wished there was more people in the Bunker. More help, more friends, more support.

Older Sam and Dean are so alone.

_“All our friends are dead!”_ Older Dean’s voice, from the imparted memories, bubbled up from the back of his mind. Sam flinched slightly, and wondered if all their friends meant . . . well, _all_ their friends.

Castiel was still alive, obviously, though Sam remembers (in a sense) Cas dying quite often. Older Sam reeled off a list of all the dead.

After Older Sam left them and before they went to try normal life, Sam and Dean had called together their friends and told them what had happened. Ellen, Jo, Rufus, Pamela, and Anna listened. Pamela and Anna were able to fill in some gaps about what happened—it turned out that Older Sam had schemed quite a bit with Pamela, to both talk through what he had to do and get help on the hunts he had known about but had not figured out in time in _his_ time.

Each of their friends supported Sam and Dean, and Sam could not imagine what it would be like to hunt and know they did not have any backup, and no one to look for them if they went missing.

When they reached the garage, Older Dean was shoving Rowena into the back of the Impala.

“Isn’t _this_ interesting?” Rowena said once she caught a look of them. “What have the Winchesters gotten into now?”

“None of your damn business,” Dean said and looked over at the Older Winchesters. “So now what?”

“The five of us won’t fit into the car,” Older Sam said.

Castiel shifted minutely next to Sam. “I will remain here. Pray if you need back up.”

Older Dean nodded. “That works, Cas, thanks. You two okay sitting next to this bitch?”

“Dean!” Rowena gasped as Sam and Dean nodded resignedly. “Is that any way to talk to a lady?”

Older Dean scanned her over. “I don’t see a lady here.”

Rowena’s protests were silenced when Older Dean shoved her in the car with a mumbled curse. Sam and Dean slid in on either side of her, neither looking at all happy about the arrangement. Older Dean started the car and peeled out of the garage in silence, his face grim. Older Sam didn’t look any better.

Night had fallen as Older Sam guided Older Dean into town, his weary eyes locked on the computer in front of him. Sam and Dean had been ensconced in their research, and Sam had barely noticed that the day had passed him by. As he looked out the window, he watched people walking or driving, completely oblivious about the cluster fuck that were the lives of the Winchesters passing them by.

Rowena had, apparently, decided enough uncomfortable silence was enough. “So absurd, driving in circles looking for your unhinged angel.”

Sam and Dean bristled, but their older selves let the comment slide. Sam wondered how many jabs at their sanity the three had endured over the years.

Older Dean huffed a soft, exasperated sigh. “We're not driving in circles, alright? We're locked onto his phone's G.P.S. We're tracking his location.”

“I have no idea what you just said,” Rowena rolled her eyes, “but I'm sure I could do it faster.”

Older Sam’s face was only partially visible to Sam, but he could see the dark smile on his older self’s face. “Yeah, maybe you could, but you would have to do a spell, which means we would have to take the cuffs off, and we are not going to take the cuffs off.”

Rowena’s voice was coated in mock-hurt. “There's no trust? Are we not a team?”

“No,” all four Winchesters said. Rowena blinked, startled enough to break character slightly.

Nevertheless, she tried again. “You wouldn't think a road trip with two such strapping lads could be this tedious. Shall we have a wee sing-song?”

“No!” This time Sam did not bother to join in, and smiled slightly to himself when he heard the same pissed-off frustration in both Dean’s voices and incredulity in Older Sam’s.

Rowena _tisked_. “I have myself to blame. Should never make deals with Winchesters, since they seem unable to hold up their end of the bargain.”

“Meaning what?” Older Dean said gruffly.

“Oh, just that thing between Sam, Crowley, and myself.”

Rowena’s voice was a bit too innocent, and Sam looked sharply at his other self, who was shifting uneasily.

_What did you do?_ Sam thought. _What the hell did you do?_

Sam knew, when Older Dean looked over at his brother, that the older man didn’t know. Older Sam hadn’t told him. “What? What's she talking about?”

Rowena leaned forward, malicious glee on her face. “Oh, surely, you knew Sam made a deal with me to kill my son if I removed the Mark of Cain from your arm.”

“That’s enough!” Dean barked, shoving her back into her seat. Rowena didn’t even glance at him, too caught up in creating discord amongst the Older Winchesters. “Well, is the Mark gone? Yes. Is Crowley dead? No.” Sam felt his stomach sink. Beyond knocking her out, he didn’t know how to stop the witch from talking. “Mm,” Rowena shook her head sadly, “oh, he didn't know? He didn't know!”

Older Sam didn’t quail under the look his brother gave him, making him a stronger man that Sam. Instead he just explained himself, his tone quiet and even. “Look, I was gonna tell you. Obviously, nothing ever came of it, so I-I figured there was no point, you know?”

Older Dean snorted. “No point, huh?”

“I-I mean, I see what Dean's saying.” Rowena started again, and dear _god_ Sam wanted to punch her, chivalry be damned. “Your wee pal Castiel wouldn't be in this pickle if you'd done what you'd promised. I would've had no reason to cast the attack dog spell if Crowley were already dead. Excellent point.”

Older Dean turned and glared back at her. “It's not my point. Sam knows my point. Keyword—secrets.”

“Ah, well, I'm just glad I got the conversation flowing. Family relations are a specialty of mine.”

“Yeah well, I don’t know when Sam would have exactly got a chance to tell him,” Dean said loudly. “What with all the chaos that’s been going on.”

Older Dean held up a finger. “ _Don’t_ defend him. He should have made time.”

“When?” Dean rolled his eyes. “Dude, you both have been going non-stop. Give your brother a break.”

Sam saw Rowena’s displeased expression and Dean’s more triumphant one and gave his brother a large grin.

Older Sam had looked down at his computer again. “Hey,” he said.

“Did he stop?” Older Dean demanded.

“Yeah, he stopped. And he's close.”

They pulled over and got out, Older Dean and Sam yanking Rowena out and slamming the door behind her.

“Come on,” Older Dean looked around and made a face when he didn’t see Cas conveniently in his line of sight. “We need to split up. He's gotta be around here somewhere. So I'll head up the street, you guys head the other way.”

Rowena looked outraged. “Are you joking? I'm in heels.”

“Boo hoo,” Sam said and felt bad for Other Sam when the man grabbed Rowena’s shoulder and steered her up the street.

“Sammy and I will scout the alleyways,” Dean offered. Older Dean nodded, his expression grim.

“Well, isn’t this fan-friggin’-tastic,” Dean grumbled as they poked down an alley. “We should be focused on the portals,”

“Cas is our friend,” Sam shot back.

“I know, I know,” Dean said, holding up his hands. “That wasn’t my point.”

“Then what was your point Dean? We owe this Sam so fucking much, we can at least repay him this way.”

“No, I know that,” Dean said and turned to face Sam, his expression sad. “But how many people are going to Hell right now, Sam? How many different _versions_ of people are going to Hell?”

“Too many,” Sam said.

“Yeah,” Dean’s shoulders slumped. “Our dimensions sucks, just not as bad as this one. Did you find anything?”

“Nothing,” Sam said and peered through a small slice of space between two buildings. “There is nothing in the Bunker that can do this.”

“Maybe after this Older Sam and Dean will help us,” Dean said. “Hell, Cas could probably join in.”

“Cas was looking for Metatron,” Sam reminded him. “They’ve got their own worries. None of them know what to do when it comes to dimension travel. They’ve done it rarely, and never on purpose.”

“Except for Cas, when he hid Lilith,” Dean pointed out.

Sam shook his head. “I remember.”

“Okay, so we just keep looking,” Dean said. “Y’know, now that I’ve seen the Bunker, I _really_ don’t want to leave.”

Sam felt a grin steal onto his face. “Me neither. It’s _amazing_.”

Dean laughed. “Dude, you are such a geek,”

Sam punched his shoulder. “So are you. Don’t think I didn’t see you checking out those swords.”

Dean opened his mouth to retort when they heard a scream.

“Shit,” Dean swore before bolting in the direction of the sound, Sam hot on his heels.

They burst into a building of some kind in time to see Cas wailing on Older Dean. Older Sam and Rowena were right behind them. As soon as he saw what was happening, Older Sam flicked a key at Dean, who immediately unlocked the witch’s cuffs, though he didn’t look happy about it. Older Sam held a gun to Rowena’s head, looking resolved and slightly panicked.

As soon as the cuffs were off, Rowena brought her hands down to rest at her sides and looked at Cas.

“Desiste,” she said. Cas jerked to a halt, his eyes red and inflamed, his lips drawn back in a snarl.

Older Sam looked down at the tiny woman. “Do I need to remind you these are witch-killing bullets? Finish it!”

Rowena looked disinterested at the threat. “Yes, yes, all right. Adlevo onus tuum.”

Cas started twitching uncontrolably, his eyes rolling and pained grunts forcing themselves out of his mouth.

Older Dean, his face bloody, leaned over Cas when the angel dropped to the ground. “Cas?” he demanded. “Cas? Hey.” He put a hand under Cas’ head, checking for a pulse. Sam couldn’t see Cas’ face from this angle, but he could hear the relief in Dean’s voice as he said, “hey, hey, hey. Come on. Come on.” Dean helped Cas sit up, and Sam saw the distress on Cas’ face. He remembered.

Sam needed to talk to him at some point. If Cas had been hanging around Winchesters for a while, it was more than likely he picked up on their tendency towards guilt. 

“Yeah,” Older Dean said once Cas was sitting up. “Hey.”

Sam was so caught up in the scene before him that Rowena’s attack came completely by surprise.

“Permitte telum,” the red head said, and Older Sam’s witch-killing gun flew out of his hands. Before any of them could react, Rowena pointed her finger in the air and shouted “Abi!”

They flew further into the room, and Sam groaned as he landed hard on his side.

“No!” Older Dean growled, leaving Cas sitting as he ran towards the witch.

“Impedi!” Rowena commanded, lowering the gate and shutting them in. Older Dean stopped just short of the gate, and though Sam couldn’t see it, he was willing to bet his full-ride that Older Dean was glaring hatefully at her.

Rowena merely raised an eyebrow. She sidled up to the bars and looked at Older Dean, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I'm sure you had every intention of honoring our deal. But why take chances?”

She looked at Sam. “I’ll come to collect that story at some point in time.”

And with that she vanished.

*

The drive back was silent, and Sam felt quite cramped in the back seat; Cas was larger than Rowena, though he seemed to be doing his best to shrink in on himself.

When they got back to the Bunker, Older Dean disappeared into the hallways, leaving Older Sam and Sam to help Cas out of the Impala. Dean closed up the garage, his face impassive.

“You’ll find her again,” Sam told Older Sam.

Older Sam shot him a quick grin. “I know we will. That’s the kind of life we live.”

“We should have called Castiel,” Dean said, stomping up next to them.

“Why do you think she stunned us?” Sam asked. “Dude, she knew we would. That’s why she disappeared. We were all banking on the fact that she’d stay longer enough to know more about _us_.”

Older Sam shook his head. “Stupid of us.”

“Well, we ain’t Einstein,” Dean said and opened the door into the Bunker. “Let’s get you sat down, Cas,”

Cas remained silent, his mouth clenched unhappily.

Older Sam let Sam and Dean take Cas back up to the main room where Older Dean was already sitting, an enormous ice pack plastered to his face.

“Hey, where’s Castiel?” Sam asked. Older Dean glanced at him, one side of his face already swelling up.

“No idea,” he said. “He was gone when I got here.”

He set watched as Sam and Dean helped Cas into one of the chairs. Sam retrieved the blanket lying abandoned on the floor and replaced it around his shoulders.

“Did you guys find anything on your case?” Older Dean asked as he set the ice down on the table.

“Dead ends everywhere,” Dean said as Older Sam returned, several beers clenched in his hands.

“Hey,” Older Sam called out as he entered the room. “You should keep applying that.”

“Thanks, mom,” Older Dean said, accepting one of the bottles. “You just keep the beers comin'.”

Older Sam chuckled and settled himself in front of his computer, opening the lid and clicking though whatever he had up.

Cas hunched in on himself. “Dean, I . . . There aren't words.”

“You're right,” Older Dean said, and Sam bristled, preparing to leap to Cas’ defense. Older Dean continued, looking steadily at Cas. “There aren't words, Cas, 'cause there's no need. You were under a spell. It's fine.”

Sam relaxed. If anything, Cas looked even more upset. 

“Yeah,” Cas started as Older Dean placed the ice on his swollen face. “But you had Rowena. Because of me, you . . .”

Older Sam closed the lid to his laptop and looked at Cas seriously. “You know, Cas, we've got the Codex. That's a start. You know, it'll slow Rowena down some. If we'd killed her, the Book of the Damned would've been lost.”

“Besides,” Older Dean said, his words slurring a little as his mouth continued to swell, “we got bigger fish to fry.”

Cas knew immediately what he meant. “The Darkness. What does she want?”

Older Dean sat up and pulled his beer closer. “Well, the big question is, where the hell is she?”

Cas stood up and reached over, two fingers out. “Dean, I can fix that.”

Older Dean waved him away. “No, no, no. No, no. It's fine, Cas.” He looked up at the angel, oblivious to the rest of the room. Sam saw his face, and knew that no matter how the alternate version of his brother acted, he was still haunted by his past. “Besides, I had it comin'.”

Older Sam and Sam shared a look, and Sam knew that his other self realized it, too.

“So,” Older Dean said. “What are you guys dealing with?”

Sam recognized the change of topic, and with a look at Cas, he took it. “We don’t know. There’s no lore whatsoever about a creature with the ability to make a portal to Hell and suck people in.”

Older Sam opened his laptop again and looked at Sam. “It opens portals into Hell? Why’d you come here? That doesn’t sound like dimension travel.”

“It isn’t,” Dean said. “But the creature _has_ been doing dimension travel. It finds a person it likes and snacks on it, then finds it in another dimension and snacks on it there, too.”

Older Sam began typing away frantically. “Okay, so what are you thinking?”

“We think it takes people from universes that have touched ours,” Sam took over again.

Older Sam’s fingers froze. “Touched it how?”

Sam exchanged glances with Dean. “Like there’s been travel between the two.”

“How often has that happened?” Older Dean asked.

“There are three other universes, to our knowledge,” Sam supplied. “Yours, the one the Djinn put Dean in—it may have been a dream, but it’s more than likely that was an actual universe and the Djinn was just planting that in Dean’s mind—and the one with Jared and . . . Jensen?”

“The actor’s world,” Older Sam looked at Cas, who looked even more guilty. Sam felt bad. “Okay,” Older Sam continued. “I’ve never _ever_ heard of this. You guys?”

“Nope,” Older Dean said.

“Me neither,” Cas admitted. “Your Castiel hasn’t either, I take it.”

“No,” Sam said. “We got nothing.”

“Guys,” Older Sam said. “There’s been another portal,”

“What? Fuck!” Dean said, standing up and peering over Older Sam’s shoulder.

“Where?” Older Dean demanded.

Older Sam looked up. “Just outside Lebanon.”

“It’s tracking us,” Sam said.

Dean looked over at him. “Because we weakened the walls.”

“Fuck,” Older Dean said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the timeline thing I got from Here (http://hells-half-acre.livejournal.com/373711.html). There are a lot of "unknowns", so I just made some of the dates up. Live with it.
> 
> June 16th, 2014 -- Sam finds out Dean is a Demon.  
> [(September 18th, 2008--March 31st, 2009)(June 18th, 2014--June 22nd, 2014)] -- Events of _Unchangeable_  
>  June-July 2014 -- Sam and Cas hunt. Sam gets his shoulder injured due to Cas' failing health on a Windego hunt, which they only survive because Dean shows up.  
> August 1st-2nd -- Sam tries to cure Dean. It fails. Dean is attacked by Cole and disappears.  
> September 15th -- Sam figures out how to get the remnants of Cas' Grace. It's not as powerful, most of it is lost. Cas instead keeps it on a chain around his neck. Crowley kills an angel and gives him more a day later.  
> November 4th-5th -- Charlie appears as Dark and Light ( _There's No Place Like Home_ )  
> November 23rd -- Gabriel returns and then disappears  
> December 4th -- Gabriel shows up again.  
> December 25th -- Christmas, and the end of _Unchangeable_  
>  January 14th -- Trickster hunt mentioned in _Unchangeable_  
>  January 22nd -- Dean is cured  
> January 28th -- _About a Boy_ takes place and the rest is completely canon
> 
> So here's my timeline, folks! I didn't include everything (i.e., what happened with _Fanfiction_ , or _Ask Jeeves_ , etc.) so if you're curious, just drop a comment. I tried to keep it as canon as possible while also accounting for everything in my own AU. Hope this helps; it's not going to be important in the actual story, but I thought it might help you guys. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Also, what kind of monster do you think it is? I'll give you a hint--they've run into it before, but this version is a bit more powerful . . . Drop me a review and let me know your thoughts!


	3. The Hunter Becomes the Hunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters try to find out what monster they're up against . . . and it's proving difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this is two weeks late. Two Fridays ago I drove through a snowstorm for eight hours and since I didn’t have the chapter done, I just decided to postpone a week. I was exhausted for most of the time last weekend so procrastinated. Happy Thanksgiving, people. Sorry for the delay, guys. Really.
> 
> Please drop a review and let me know what you think! Your comments help me so much.
> 
> Title from the song “The Hunted” by Snow Ghosts.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock BBC (or we’d probably have more seasons by now) and I don’t own Supernatural.

“Okay,” Older Sam said. “So we need to figure out what this thing is.”

“Easier said than done,” Older Dean said. He turned to face Sam and Dean. “We’ll help.”

“Don’t you have your own problems?” Sam asked. He glanced between the Older Winchesters and Cas. “Metatron, right? And the Darkness?”

“People are being sucked into Hell,” Older Sam said. “Multiple times. I think it’s our priority right now.”

“And there’s this thing called ‘saving people’,” Older Dean said, settling back into his chair and sipping his beer. “And Sammy and me are givin’ it a shot. So, shoot. Whadda ya got?”

“So we first got wind of it from Ellen,” Sam said. Older Sam and Dean barely reacted outwardly, but Sam knew himself and his brother to see the emotions flicker across their faces; Older Sam looked unbelievably old and sad for a moment, and Older Dean had a shadow of guilt flit across his face. 

Embolden by their attentive silence, Sam continued. “Jo was out doing something else, so she called us. There was an odd string of deaths in Belleville, Kansas. Some guy was killed, but _how_ he bit it wasn’t released to the public. So we went to check it out.”

Older Sam had been typing and muttered to Older Dean, “Belleville isn’t far from here.”

“No, it’s not,” Dean said. “So when we got there, we went through the whole monkey dance and attended the funeral.”

“Except that’s when things got really weird.” Sam continued. “When we were at the funeral—his wife was there, so was his son and family and friends—a portal opened up and suddenly the dead guy was there. He was confused and Dean and I thought it was a ghost or something—”

“So we fire off a couple ‘a rounds,” Dean jumped in.

“But it knocks into the guy like it would any real person. Everyone was screaming and panicking and it was utter chaos,” Sam rolled the beer bottle between his hands. “That was when the portal opened up and the dude was sucked through.”

“It was horrible,” Dean said. “Like, seriously—I’ve never seen anything like it and . . .”

“How’d you know it was Hell?” Older Sam asked.

Dean and Older Dean shared a glance. “It wasn’t like the Cage,” Older Dean turned to Older Sam. “The Cage—fuck, man, none of us have ever been. We got no idea what it’s like ‘cept you and Cas. The Cage? That’s angels, man. It’s a whole ‘nother type of Hell. But the main part of Hell, where we were . . . that’s not something you forget. That’s demons and nightmares and crap like that. There's a . . . a _feel_ to it that's unlike anything else.”

Dean nodded. “It sounded the same,” he said, and Sam wished Dean did not have to explain himself again. “Smelled the same. Fuck, it kinda . . . _felt_ the same. It was just really screwed up.”

“So we hung around,” Sam said. “And more and more people kept dying, and there were tons of reports going on about those same missing people showing up a few days later, dressed differently and completely clueless as to what was going on, only to be sucked into a portal.”

“Okay,” Older Sam said. “So when did you figure out it was dimension travel on top of everything else?”

“We called Cas,” Dean said. “He told us,”

“Okay,” Older Dean said. “So why couldn’t the God squad do anything?”

“Heaven is probably in chaos,” Cas said. He still looked pitiful, huddled in his blanket and periodically shooting morose looks at Older Dean. Now he focused his attention on Sam. “When Dean followed Sam and me to your dimension and time, he took out a lot of the angels in charge.”

Older Dean looked vaguely guilty, but mostly satisfied. “I took out Raphael, Michael, Naomi, Zachariah, Metatron, Bartholomew, and whoever else got in my way.”

“You were thorough,” Older Sam said, wincing at Cas.

Cas merely looked resigned. “Yes, well—Naomi and Zachariah were in charge of most of the angels. They micromanaged while the archangels looked at the ‘big picture’. Dean,” he shot a look at Older Dean, who was peering with great interest at his beer bottle, “basically threw the entire natural order of Heaven into turmoil. Angels are not built for Free Will.”

“You did okay,” Sam said.

Cas looked away. “I have been informed that I have always had a ‘crack in my chassis’.”

“Cas went over to our side really fast,” Older Sam said. “An angel who’s billions and billions of years old who decided to go against all of Heaven for the couple of humans, and he made his decision and picked a side in less than a year?”

“Wow, I didn’t actually think about that.” Dean shook his head and shot a glance at Cas, who hunched in his blanket.

“It is not of import,” Cas said. “What’s more important is this case.”

“Right,” Older Dean said. “So they’re Heaven is as crazy as ours. Moving on. Why couldn’t Castiel tell you what it was?”

“He didn’t know,” Sam said, his tone dripping _‘obviously’_ thickly. “So we came here.”

“Okay,” Older Dean said. “Let’s get reading, I guess.”

 

*

 

Sam found Older Sam filling up a mug with coffee in the kitchen. Hours had passed—Dean had gone to bed, directed to one of the spare bedrooms by his alternate self. Sam suspected the only reason Dean was giving up after six hours instead of plugging away at it was so that Cas got some sleep, too. The angel had tried to argue when Dean had insisted he go to bed, but Dean was far more stubborn that the sickly angel. Older Dean had promised to follow them shortly, but last Sam had seen the eldest Winchester was still surrounded by books and scrolls with no signs of stopping.

“Dean is willingly doing research.” Sam shook his head as he found a mug in a cabinet. “It’s weird.”

Older Sam grinned slightly. “Tell me about it.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “He’s done this before?”

“Oh yeah,” Older Sam said and stretched, neck popping slightly. “We’ve both had to make changes the last few years.”

Sam leaned against one of the counters. “What’s changed?” He asked. Older Sam shrugged, a quizzical look about his face.

“What d’you mean?”

“You and Dean . . .” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Last time you were both so . . . _broken_. What changed? How did you guys get . . . better?”

Older Sam grimaced, a strand of hair falling into his eyes. He had gotten a trim; the last time Sam had seen this Sam, his hair had been longer.

“Things haven’t been okay since your time,” Older Sam said. “Since Dean went to Hell and I hooked up with Ruby.”

Sam winched, and Older Sam sighed.

“Hell, it was probably even before then.” Older Sam fixed a sad look on Sam. “Ruby had been manipulating us since before Dean went to Hell. Monument, the Coven . . . it was all part of her plan. You remember that year, both of them. The year I took over.”

“Yeah,” Sam said.

“After that,” Older Sam continued. “Dean kinda lost faith in me. The year of the Apocalypse . . . it was me and Dean, but we weren’t okay. Then I went to . . . Hell . . .” and for some reason Older Sam shuddered, and Sam got the feeling something had recently happened that reminded him of Hell and Lucifer. “And came back soulless. It was always something, for years; I was soulless. I was insane. I was dying from the Trials. I was possessed. Dean had the Mark. Dean was a demon . . . It was nonstop.”

“There was always something more pressing,” Sam said, “more pressing than working out all your combined pain.”

“Yeah,” Older Sam hunched his shoulder in as he spoke. “But right now, these last few days? This is the first time Dean and I are going up against something big and bad and we’re . . . us. We don’t have any issues between us except past ones.”

Sam looked over at the doorway where he knew Older Dean was still working. “That’s years,” he said. “It’s taken you . . .”

“Eight,” Older Sam supplied.

“Eight years to be ‘okay’ again? To be somewhat normal, for the given Winchester value of normal?”

Older Sam closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

Sam did not know how to respond to that. He was finding it hard to come up with any thoughts or words to express said thoughts. _Eight_ years. That was nearly a decade. It took eight years for this Sam and Dean to be able to be brothers again, instead of soldiers or allies. The list of things Older Sam had rattled off—insanity, possession, the Mark—Sam knew those had been issues that stretched months, if not years. To have to deal with all that . . . crap for years? God, no wonder they were so messed up.

“How the hell are you guys functional?” Sam finally asked.

Older Sam laughed. “We aren’t,” he said, amusement glittering in his eyes. “We’re still learning what it means to be brothers, right now as we speak.”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Sam said.

“Yeah,” Older Sam agreed. “It’s . . .” he looked vaguely embarrassed. “It’s weird, just being Sam and Dean again instead of . . . God; I don’t even know what to call it.” He shook his  
head in bemusement.

“That’s messed up,” Sam murmured.

“You’re telling me,” Older Sam said. “But we’ll get better.”

“You still have to deal with the Darkness.”

“We will.” Older Sam sobered up. “It’s on me. I won’t mess this up. I’ll fix it.”

“I believe you,” Sam said.

Older Sam looked utterly exhausted. “I feel guilty,” he confessed. “There’s this pre-Biblical evil out there, and it’s still the most restful few days I’ve had in a while.”

“When we found you, you were Rabid trying to cure an unknown disease.”

“Exactly,” Older Sam laughed.

The fell into an easy silence, each taking sips of their coffee and lost in their own thoughts.

“It’s weird, seeing you again,” Sam said finally. Older Sam looked over at him, understanding in his eyes. His alternate self was quiet, though, and so he continued. “You were . . . in me . . . for almost a year. You lied to Dean, but you saved us. You averted the Apocalypse and managed to stop your Dean from wiping us out. And then you were gone, and we thought we had seen the last of you.”

“Imagine how I felt, seeing you guys again,” Older Sam said.

Sam twisted his half-empty mug around in his hands. “Did you know why the demon blood didn’t affect you? My—my body was riddled with it. Why didn’t you feel it?”

Sam shifted. “I don’t know why,” he said. “Maybe it was Gabriel. Maybe it was because my body—this one,” he gestured to himself, “was in limbo because of Cas' summoning spell, and was pulled to my mind, so that I could take the more healthy aspects of my body and siphon them off onto yours. I don’t know, Sam.”

Sam nodded. “I guess we’ll never know,”

Older Sam shrugged. “I guess. That whole thing was . . . insane. I was lost, half the time. It was . . . it was a hard year, Sam. It was hard to relive. It was hard to face my mistakes.”

“Pamela said you had trouble remembering some hunts.”

“Pamela is correct,” Older Sam said. “In the space of a year and a half, I lived a millennia. It was full of pain and mind games, and that continued during my . . . mental break down, about a year later.”

Sam nodded. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“I’m not,” Older Sam said. “It was just me getting my due, y’know?”

“You were paying penance.”

“Yeah.”

They fell silent again.

“I better get back,” Older Sam said, draining his mug. “There’s a spare bedroom near Dean’s. Did you hear where that was?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, feel free to use it,” Older Sam said, striding out of the kitchen and back to the library. Sam remained where he was, however, looking at the doorway where his older self had disappeared thoughtfully.

 

*

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was a Lamia,” Older Dean said the next day. It was about ten o’clock, and Sam’s eyes felt gritty from the four hours he had managed to catch the night before. Dean looked better than he did, and was radiating self-satisfaction at the color Cas had regained in his cheeks.

“A Lamia?” Dean asked.

“I thought they didn’t leave Greece,” Sam said.

“One did, in the . . . in the year you’re living,” Older Sam said. “We took care of it with Bobby’s help. And you’re right,” he added to his brother. “It looks like a Lamia attack, but I’ve never heard of a Lamia doing this kind of thing.”

“So we still got nothing,” Dean said.

“Maybe not,” Older Sam said.

“What?” Older Dean asked.

“What if it’s not a traditional monster?”

“How do you mean?” Cas asked, looking over at Older Sam from the crime scene pictures he had snagged from Older Dean.

“I mean,” Older Sam said. “What if it’s a monster that’s been altered?”

“Okay . . .” Dean said slowly. “That still doesn’t clear anything up.”

“Who was the first victim?” Older Sam asked.

“Jonathan Hayman,” Sam said.

Older Sam squinted at the list of victims from their two universes. “It says here the first to die in our universe was his son, Mark.”

Dean leaned over and yanked the list out of his hand. “No way.”

“What?” Cas asked. “What is it?”

Dean shared a look with Sam. “We talked to Mark in our universe about his father's death.”

“And he was a total nerd,” Sam added. “D&D, Magic, the whole thing.”

“Okay, and?” Older Sam prodded.

“You think this looks like a Lamia killing,” Dean said. “But are there any websites that talk about supposed Lamia powers?”

Older Sam pulled his computer closer to him. He typed in some words and within less than a minute, he had something. “It says here that 'The other form of the Lamia is a black goat that can open portals to drag its victims (still living) into Hell after 3 days and nights of intense torment'.”

“That fits the bill,” Older Dean said.

“But this is just crap,” Older Sam argued. “We fought a Lamia before and it couldn't do this.”

“But he's into that occult,” Sam said. “And the dude had this printed out, I saw it.”

“Okay, and?” Dean asked.

“He had doodled some obscure sigils on it, said he was looking for something to put on a map on his next game or whatever,” Sam said. “I didn't look closely, but what if he put a tolpa symbol on it?”

The room went quiet.

“Shit,” Older Dean growled. “Then all the little geeks would think that Lamias could open Portals to Hell—”

“And since Lamias already exist, it wasn't hard to warp one,” Older Sam finished.

“But why would it be able to cross dimensions?” Sam asked. “There's nothing in the lore—fake or not—that says they can do that.”

“Maybe not,” Cas said softly. “But what if it was already over powered?”

“Walk us through, Cas,” Older Dean said. “I'm not following.”

Cas shifted in his seat. “What if instead of going after Alphas, Crowley instead turned to experimentation? He isn't after the 'big bads', so to speak. Instead he's charging up monsters that already exist.”

“Why?” Older Dean asked.

“We wiped out all of the authorities in their world,” Cas reminded him. “In less than a day, there was no one. So Crowley would be desperate to keep his power, and would probably try to show that he's the King they want.”

The Winchesters looked at each other.

“If this is true,” Older Sam finally said, “then I have no clue what to do.”

“Does it say anything about how to kill it in that website of yours?” Older Dean asked.

Older Sam squinted at the screen. “No.”

“Then it may still be that herb flambé recipe Bobby gave us,” Older Dean said. “We find it, we roast it, end of story.”

“Why would it kill one Mark and not the other?” Sam asked.

“Because the Mark in your universe was the one who gave it its powers,” Cas said. “It may feel the need to keep him alive.”

“Why?” Dean asked.

“Why do monsters do anything?” Older Dean scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “Okay, so if we’re going with this theory—with is nuts, by the way—then what do we do?”

“We hunt it down and kill it,” Older Sam said. “The last victim was a woman named Mary Green.”

“It picks the victim in our universe first and then takes their counterpart in your universe, then the actors, then the djinn,” Sam said. “If it keeps to its schedule, someone from our universe will be taken tomorrow, then their counterpart from this universe the day after that.”

“How quickly does it take from the other dimensions?” Older Sam asked.

“It takes a day between our universe and yours, and then takes the other three universes—including yours—in the same day,” Sam said.

“Awesome,” Older Dean said. “So we got two days to plan and no clue who the victim will be.”

“We can check with our universe,” Sam said. “Someone is going to have to . . . to die, but we can save their alternate selves from the same fate.”

Older Sam and Dean grimaced. “Could we just go to your universe and kill it there?” Older Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. “Hally only has the strength for one return trip,” he said. “If you came with us, you’d be stranded for a long time while she recovers. If we go to our universe, we’d lose the Lamia because we’d have no forewarning as to who it’ll choose.”

“So how would we know who it’ll take?” Older Dean asked. “It doesn’t sound like we got many options.”

“Hally can open a window,” Sam said. “Take a look and see who it’ll be and then tell us.”

“Someone is still going to die,” Older Sam protested.

“You think we don’t know that?” Dean snapped. “We’ve been chasing this thing as the Lamia kills more and more. We can’t do anything to stop it, which is why we came here!”

There was a brief moment of prickly silence, as the Winchesters glared at each other.

“Okay,” Older Dean finally said. “Let’s wrap this up and pay a visit to Hally.”

*

Castiel had apparently gone off to check on Hally after scouring the world and noting the differences. Sam, Dean, and Older Dean found the stiff angel sitting awkwardly on one of the queens in Hally’s motel room. Hally was sitting on the other, engrossed in some TV show—bunch of prison chicks or something. She had told them it was unlocked when they had knocked, and now they were standing awkwardly, waiting for Hally to come to a commercial break.

“Where is the other Sam?” Castiel asked.

“He and Cas decided to gather up Lamia killing supplies. Not that it’s hard, but apparently our rosemary supply is low, for some reason,” Older Dean said. He was watching the screen alongside Hally and smiling slightly.

Castiel’s brow furrowed. “This is not the doing of the Lamia.”

“Hush,” Hally said. “This scene is almost done.”

Sam did not really pat attention to what was happening on the screen, and so was only vaguely aware of some commercial for an insurance company lighting up the TV. Hally sat up and directed her attention to them. “Okay, spill.”

They filled Hally and Castiel on what was happening, and by the end of it Hally looked sick and Castiel was nodding thoughtfully.

“It could be,” he said.

“So we need you to open a window and find out who the next victim is tomorrow night,” Sam said. “Are you okay with that?”

“Just a window?” Hally raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Sam said.

“And what about the poor bastard who’s going to die in our universe?”

“At least their counterparts won’t go the same way as them,” Older Dean said. “Hally, I want to save them just as much as you. The problem is we don’t know how the Lamia picks their targets—this isn’t just men. Some women have been killed, too. So we gotta work with what we have, and that right now means we look through your window, we see who was pulled into Hell, and we save them in three other dimensions.”

Hally looked at him for a long time, her dark eyes sweeping over Older Dean’s lighter ones. Eventually she nodded and settled back against the pillows. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll look over at six o’clock tomorrow night and let you know who it was.”

“Thank you,” Older Dean said sincerely.

*

The rest of the day was filled with agitated impatience. Older Sam, Older Dean, Sam, and Dean all separated themselves, unable to stand being in the same room with each other without snapping. They were all on edge, unsure about the hunt, unsure about the monster, and unsure about how to act around each other. Dean and Cas retreated to Older Sam’s room, where there was a TV. Dean had found the _Star Wars_ trilogy in Older Dean’s room and wanted to show Cas. Older Dean joined them somewhere through the second movie and the three stayed that way for the rest of the day. Sam was pretty sure once they were done with _Star Wars_ they moved on to _Lord of the Rings_ , but he wasn’t entirely sure.

He did not know what Older Sam was doing. Sam himself was reading as much lore as he could. The Bunker was not going to be available to him for a very long time, and he wanted to make the most of his time there.

That night, each Winchester went to sleep filled with restless energy.

*

The next day passed in much the same way.

Sam could almost hear the clock ticking down to six, when Hally would look and they’d know who was going to die tomorrow. Castiel had elected to stay with Hally—personally, Sam thought the angel was enjoying the TV marathon. Older Sam had laughed and told Sam that the series was called _Orange is the New Black_. Sam would look out for it when it came out in their universe.

Older Sam had apparently started a new journal, filled with everything that had happened since his return and everything he had forgotten in the first journal. Sam read a few pages and looked in horror at Sam after reading about the Styne family.

“They were related to _Frankenstein?_ ” He hissed.

“Yep,” Older Sam said. “Nasty family.”

Sam looked back down at the journal, his own familiar messy scrawl streaking across the pages.

“I hate waiting,” he said.

“I do, too,” Older Sam said. “But we don’t have much of a choice.”

“I hate the fact that someone has to die,” Sam said and looked up at his older self. “Is there no other way?”

“Not in the time we have left,” Older Sam said sympathetically. “I wish there was another way, too, Sam.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, looking down at the creased pages.

*

When Hally called, only the two Sams were around. The Deans and Cas had scuttled off to watch _Indiana Jones_ , leaving the Sams to their reading.

“His name is Dustin Meyers,” Hally said without preamble. “He lives in Scandia.”

“Got it, thank you,” Older Sam said. He hung up and looked at Sam. “Go get our brothers,” he said.

Sam did so.

“Hey,” Dean greeted him when he entered the room. Older Dean and Cas looked at him, movie forgotten.

“The vic’s name is Dustin Meyers,” Sam said. “He lives in Scandia, Kansas.”

“That’s about thirty minutes from here,” Older Dean said and leapt to his feet. “Road trip time.”

*

They took the Impala again. Older Sam and Dean were up front, Sam and Dean in the back. Dean and Older Sam had a slight fight about who would go where before Older Dean snapped and told everyone where they were sitting. Sam had slid awkwardly into the back without a complaint, trying to make his long legs fit.

Older Dean pulled up the tunes, and Sam let the rifts of AC/DC wash over him. Dean did occasionally let him play his own music. Sam had eventually just bought an iPod and had called it good. No matter what he said to Dean, he did like the music, outdated though it was. Like the Impala, it was comforting and familiar.

Small towns flew past them as Dean drove well over the speed limit. When he was younger, just back from Stanford, Sam used to think that Dean would get them pulled over. Dean, however, had a talent for spotting speed traps, and they rarely ever got a ticket.

Dustin Meyers was a man in his late thirties. He was unmarried and lived alone near a park. His thinning hair was dark brown with a few flecks of silver. He had thick glasses and a somewhat lumpy nose. He was shorter than Sam by a good five inches and looked entirely unimpressed at Older Sam’s sales pitch on a new computer, glancing between Dean and Older Sam with disinterested eyes.

Sam and Older Dean had elected to stay in the car, and watched as their brothers made their way back to them.

“So he hasn’t noticed anything unusual,” Older Sam said as he slid into the front seat. “But the Lamia is going to hit him sometime tomorrow, so we better stake out his house.”

“Awesome,” Older Dean said. “Let’s find a motel for the night.”

They stopped at a diner and had dinner, mostly in silence. They got strange looks from the patrons and server; four men, two looking like the younger versions of the other two. The Winchesters didn’t bother to come up with a story; the onlookers could come up with their own explanations.

Both Deans ate their weight in cholesterol while Sam and Older Sam got different salads. They put up with the teasing from the Deans, sharing a look on amusement with each other when the Deans got into a debate about which burger was better.

Older Dean paid, cash, and they trooped outside again and set off in search of a motel. They found one within walking distance of Dustin’s house with cheap rates and no questions asked.

Sam had grown used to the Bunker with its cavernous halls and spacious rooms. The motel rooms that they booked—one for Older Sam and Dean, one for Sam and Dean—were particularly nasty after that. Sam gazed around at the snot-green room, which had questionable stains—with distaste.

“It’s not so bad,” Dean said.

“It’s bad,” Sam said flatly. “I can’t wait for our grandfather to come.”

Dean, who had slung his duffle off his shoulder and onto the bed closest to the door, looked up. “And that’s not something you say every day.”

Sam grinned. “No, it’s not,” he said.

“A tulpa super powered Lamia,” Dean said. “This whole fucking case, man.”

“I hear you,” Sam said. “It’s weird, even by our standards.”

“So," Dean said, glancing sideways at him. "We’ll probably be leaving soon.”

“I know,” Sam sat down on his bed and looked over at Dean. “I feel kinda bad. I mean, we get to go to our universe where our friends and family are still alive while they’re trapped in this crap universe.”

Dean shrugged. “Can’t help it,” he said. “We don’t belong here anymore than they belong in our universe.”

“Still,” Sam said. “I wish we could help them.”

Dean yanked out a change of clothes and his toiletry kit. “They’ll be fine,” he said. “We always are.”

“You’re not going out to a bar?” Sam asked as Dean claimed the bathroom.

“Dude, it’s a _super powered_ Lamia. I need all my wits about me,” Dean said and shut the door.

*

Sam and Older Dean once again teamed up. They waited in front of Dustin’s house while Dean and Older Sam waited around the back.

“We have no idea what it looks like from this end,” Sam said. “We don’t know if the Lamia comes to get her victims herself or what.”

“Guess we’ll find out,” Older Dean said. He scanned the block again. “Think Lamias can be old ladies?”

“I guess,” Sam said. “Why?”

“Because Betty White over there hasn’t moved in five minutes,” Older Dean said and nodded to a woman on their side of the street. She had white hair and so many wrinkles Sam was amazed she could see. She was standing on the sidewalk, heedless of her surroundings, staring at Dustin Meyers’ house.

Sam pulled out his phone and called Dean.

“Yeah?” His brother asked.

“Dean, we think we got the Lamia. Old woman about ten yards away from us. Hasn’t moved in five minutes, staring at Dustin’s house.”

“We’ll be ready,” Dean said and hung up.

“Sam,” Older Dean said in warning. Sam looked up in time to see the old woman crossing the street, gaze still fixed on Dustin’s house. Sam and Older Dean got out of the car and followed her as she hobbled up the steps and knocked on Dustin’s door.

Dustin answered it, looking rather annoyed. He must have gotten more visitors in one day than he usually did in a month, Sam thought. Dustin’s irked expression did not falter at the sight of the old woman. Whatever the Lamia was saying to him, however, made him nod and stand back, allowing the monster access to his home.

“Idiot,” Older Dean grumbled.

“C’mon,” Sam said, long legs eating up the feet as he crossed the lawn and walked up to the door. Older Dean was right behind him and together they peered through a window. The curtains were haphazardly closed, and Sam could see, through the cracks, a living room. It seemed to be empty.

“Can you see them?” Older Dean breathed.

“No,” Sam said. Dustin walked into the living room carrying a glass of water and handed it down to one of the chairs. Its back was to Sam, so he could not see the Lamia sitting on it.

“Shit,” Older Dean swore.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Look at the shadows,” Older Dean said.

Sam looked.

Dustin’s house was a bachelor’s haven. It was messy and dusty with beer cans scattered across the floor and empty takeout boxes on side tables. Dustin was also, apparently, allergic to lights. The only lights on in the house were in the kitchen; the rest came from bank windows to the east, letting sunlight it. There were many shadows.

Behind Dustin, the shadows were moving.

Sam had not been sure, at first, but now he could see it. They were . . . _reaching out_ . . . to Dustin, who obliviously sat down on the worn couch and plastered on smile for the woman.

“What the hell do we do?” Sam hissed at Older Dean.

Older Dean slipped two containers out of his pocket, rosemary and salt. “We go in there and gank the bitch.”

Sam nodded and slipped around his brother. He knelt down and began picking the front door’s lock.

“Hurry up,” Older Dean muttered.

“I’m going,” Sam snarled. “Give me one second—yes!”

Older Dean wasted no time. He burst into the house just as the shadows reached Dustin. The man was twitching and writhing, unable to make a noise. The old woman was now on her feet, smiling at the man’s agony.

She looked up as they entered the room, and her smile turned to an ugly frown. Sam drew his gun as soon as Older Dean was inside and held it alert.

“He’s mine,” she growled when her eyes came to rest on them.

“You wish,” Older Dean advanced, the two containers held out.

She leapt forwards, faster than an old person should be able to. Older Dean went soaring back and crashed into a bookcase with a shout. Distantly Sam heard the back door kicked in, but his focus was on the old woman. He raised his gun and fired once, twice, three times—but it only pissed her off.

“Bullets can’t stop me,” she said. Her body began to contort as she took on her more monstrous qualities. Her nails grew and sharpened into deadly points. Her pupils slit like a cat’s, and her teeth became rows of fangs.

Distantly he could hear Older Sam and his own brother shouting, but Sam reached into his jacket pocket with one hand, the other holding the gun steadily on her, and withdrew a cocktail bottle.

His gun ran out. She was still advancing on him.

He threw himself backwards into the hallway, desperately scrabbling for his lighter. She was mere feet from him now, her eyes alight with unholy glee, when Dean came out of nowhere and jumped on her back.

Sam’s fingers found the lighter, curling around the cool metal.

“Dean!” He shouted. Dean screamed as the old woman’s claws raked across his forearm.

Dean fell awkwardly, and Sam took his chance. He lit the cocktail and threw it at her.

She tried to dodge, but Sam had caught her in the doorway from the front hall to the living room. Her side-to-side movements were limited at best.

The bottle hit her, and she erupted into flames. She screamed, a long, drawn out wail that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

The rosemary and salt in the bottle did the trick, and the Lamia’s howls dissipated into nothing.

Dustin yelled as her shadows released him, and Older Sam did his best to comfort the poor guy. Dean hurried over to Sam to check on him, much to Sam’s annoyance, and Older Dean slowly got to his feet, his already busted face oozing more blood.

“Sammy, how many fingers am I holding up?” Dean demanded.

“Three,” Sam said, irritated. “I’m fine, Dean. I’m good. It’s over.”

“Yeah,” Dean looked back at the hysterical Dustin, trying to push Older Sam away. Older Dean began talking loudly, telling him to _calm the fuck down you’re still alive, asshat._

“The hunt’s done.”

*

Sam, Dean, Castiel, and Hally stood in the Bunker’s library, looking at Older Sam, Dean, and Cas.

“Well,” Sam said. “I guess this is goodbye.”

Older Sam nodded. “It was good seeing you guys.”

“Bit too soon,” Dean said. “But it was . . . nice.”

Older Sam grinned. “I’m sure.”

“Goodbye,” Cas said. He had dressed himself in his trench coat and suit, and Sam felt a little relieved to see something so familiar.

“If you need help again, feel free to stop by,” Older Dean said. “Dimension travel. What the fuck is our life?”

Dean barked a laugh. “No clue. Be seeing you.”

With a nod from Dean, Hally closed her eyes and let the golden form of her powers enter her veins. Castiel reached out and touched her forehead, giving her another boost of energy. The air crackled with electricity, and Sam tried to calm his beating heart.

The portal grew slowly, a golden white thing that was circular. Little wisps of energy floated off, but most formed into a glob. Once it was big enough, all four of them began walking forwards until they could touch the portal.

Sam looked back before he was sucked away back to his own universe.

Older Dean looked wistful and sad, some past guilt hovering behind his eyes. Cas looked relaxed and calm, better than he had the last few days. And Older Sam . . .

He looked proud.

His own world was still dark, dangerous, and depressing, but Sam knew that his older self took heart in the fact that he had made the world a better place somewhere.

And then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Lamia website can be found here: http://powerlisting.wikia.com/wiki/Lamia_Physiology  
> I don't own it or have any affiliation with it. I'm just borrowing it for the sake of the story. Promise.


	4. I Believed in All Your Stories (You’d Never Lie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone has always seen the Winchesters. Someone has always watched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, folks. The last chapter of the last part of this ‘verse. I won’t be writing more—not because I hate this series, but because I think it’s done. I’m sorry this chapter is so short, but I hope you guys think it’s a good ending. Thank you all for reading it. It means a lot to me. Please drop a review. They really do mean the world to me.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the Impala, just as I do not own Supernatural.
> 
> Chapter title comes from Radical Face’s Doorways.

_He watched them leave in a bright light. He could feel them move back to their own universe, where things were, perhaps, a little bit better._

_He watched as they appeared before a crotchety old man in a worn baseball cap, who hugged them tight and treated them to dinner._

_He watched as the girl, Hally, said her goodbyes and left for home, down in Birmingham Alabama._

_He watched as his son disappeared back to Heaven, where he was greeted by his brothers and sisters with tentative joy._

_He watched as the two brothers drove off in the most important object in the universe to continue what they have always done._

_He turned his attention to the other universe._

_There he watched as the eldest brother, soul cracked, did his best to move on and fix himself. He watched as the youngest brother, soul still flayed, as he tried to relearn how to fit with his brother so that they were, once again, SamandDean instead of Sam and Dean._

_He was not sure how to tell them that they had never been quite SamandDean except in the cemetery. Perhaps this could change._

_Sam and Dean Winchester. His finest creations. His children in Heaven could claim careful weeding of the gene pool all they wanted, but He knew better. Sam and Dean were how Michael and Lucifer should have been. They were the reflection of how his sons should have turned out._

_He was so proud of them._

_His sister, on the other hand . . . He turned to search for her, finding her essence quickly. Still he ached at her closeness, reveling in the fact that she was free. After so long, He missed her still. But she was so angry. So angry._

_He sighed._

_The car. The Impala. He drifted down and settled inside the car, curling his Being inside the metal framework and leather seats. He watched as the boys washed the car, as they drove through the storm, as they laughed and sang and talked. He frowned when Sam told Dean about the vision, but He knew He could not tell him that the visions were not from Him. He would never ask Sam to go back to the Cage. But it was not His choice to make._

_It had never been about_ His _choice._

_The boys settled back down to the routine that they had held onto for all of their lives; saving people, hunting things._

_And He watched them._

_And He knew._

_They would be alright._

 

_“There is no real ending. It’s just the place where you stop the story.”_

  


― Frank Herbert

**Author's Note:**

> So, first of all: Inevitable is shorter than Unchangeable. It’s four chapters long, because I’m not doing an entire season. I’m doing, like, two episodes instead, plus a hunt I made up. Secondly, thank you to Wildfire and astrivikia who gave me some amazing ideas. My plot have evolved since you’ve commented, but I want to thank you so much for putting responding to my request and coming up with some awesome suggestions. It means a lot. Thank you to Dani, Jay, anachronism, and everyone else reviewed on the _Unchangeable ‘Verse_. I am so, so sorry to have kept you waiting if you return to this sequel. You all are amazing, and I can’t believe the amazing and kind words you have all given me.
> 
> Brahma, apparently, can travel through dimensions. I figured give his kids a power boost, they can, too. Hally won't play a big role in this, but that's just my reasoning for having her. Yes angels can do it. Would Cas prefer to have most of his powers because he knows he's going into a sucky universe? Yep. So; Hally was born. Please don't hate her. Or, if you do, please don't hate me. I needed her.
> 
> Okay; _Unchangable_. I kind of screwed myself over with that one, and for the next chapter (which will be posted Sunday, like last time) **I will post a timeline of how everything goes.** Sam, instead of spending his summer looking for Demon Dean, like in canon, instead hunted with Cas. I've edited a few things, but overall I'll lie in my own mess of trying (and failing) to predict canon. A few things have changed, and I'll do my best to stick to season 10 and 11 canon, but there will be a FEW alterations to account for this weird canon/sort-of canon universe I've made. Bare with me, please.
> 
> The last thing; everyone, please thank KelinciHutan for kicking my muse back into play. She wrote an amazing Criminal Minds/Supernatural crossover and her enthusiasm, coupled with the kickass season 11 episodes, made this story here possible. Thank you, KelinciHutan.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys this last segment of the _Unchangeable ‘Verse_.


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